Excuse Me, I Don't Suppose You Know How To Time Travel?
by tevil
Summary: Steve Rogers wasn't the only Rogers out of time. Harry Rogers was kidnapped from his mother after his father's death, frozen in time for almost fifty years. Harry Potter just wants to find out who his biological parents were: if he still has a family and a home which isn't the Dursley's. He might not be ready for what comes with those answers though.
1. His Ghost Is Living In The Walls

**Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Either Harry Potter or the Avengers movie franchise**

 **Excuse Me, I Don't Suppose You Know How To Time Travel**

 **Chapter One**

The day Harry Rogers had been taken from his mother's apartment had been a sad day for many.

For those who had fought beside his father, Captain America, during the war, they prayed for the child who had inherited his father's eyes safe return. There were those who thought America's deceased war hero's son and wife deserved better (perhaps that they, too, deserved better). And then there were those who simply believed a child should not be torn from his home, torn from the comfort of his bed and the warm arms of the people by which he was loved.

There was those, however, who were, simply speaking, thrilled with the babe's abduction. There was naturally the media, who could hardly produce the news quickly enough to appease the public, who desperately wished to know the fate of the child of the deceased hero, who had become in many ways a symbol of all the fathers who had never come home to their children, of all the widows who had been left to raise their children. There was next, of course, those who had scorned the idea of a widowed woman raising the son of America's hero, those who thought that the boy would be better off in a laboratory or training to be to take his father's place on the front lines rather in the comfort of his mother's arms.. _Surely,_ they thought, _this would not have happened if Margaret 'Peggy' Rogers, the Captain's 'wife', had not been so foolishly independent, the boy would have had better protection._ Perhaps these men simply preferred not to think of how Harry Rogers had had ample protection, supplied by none other than one of the richest and brightest men in America. Then, there was those who were happy for another reason, for that they finally had the son of the super soldier within their grasp.

Even as the search continued, as the mother refused to cease her efforts despite the way the seasons changed and the police ceased theirs, refusing to believe that her child could so simply be _gone_. The man who had declared himself the boy's favourite uncle slowly began to find himself turning towards both the bottle and the search for the boy's father, as his hope for the child's return to began to crumble. _Surely,_ Howard Stark often found himself thinking, _surely if I find Steve he'll be able to fix this mess, to put things right._

Even as those who knew the boy, and those who didn't, prayed for his safe return, a man with a metal arm grew further away from them, carrying in his arms a child who he knew nothing of, besides it's annoying habit of occasionally struggling to breathe. Even as his son grew further away from those who loved him, Steve Rogers slept on, no idea that the child whom he had sworn to protect was slowly becoming closer to the organisation which he had sworn to destroy.

* * *

Some people seemed to know from the moment that they were born that they wanted to have children one day-, playing house with their friends before they could even begin to read. Steve Rogers had not been one of them.

Children, family, was not something he gave many thoughts to, the future only a far off concept, an eternity away, a family even further. It had only been after his eyes had begun to wander to the messy braid of one of the girl's in his classes, prompting the laughter of the boys' who noticed. It was only later, when they were throwing him onto the ground and taking the little food he had, that he found out why they had.

"Come on, _Stevie_ , do you really think that she's going to like you? Do you really think that _any_ girl is going to like a boy that they can step on?I mean, it's probably for the best, we wouldn't want any more of you in the world."

It might have been easier to not be hurt by the words if the girl had not passed then, causing the boys to call to her, her face becoming red at the words as she almost ran in the opposite direction. Their laughter, and the faint horror on the girl's face, was all he needed to know that they were right, no girl would ever want him, nor would he ever be able to teach a child how to play baseball, as he often saw father's teach their children in the park.

It was funny how you never realise you wanted something until you knew you couldn't have it. Or more perhaps, you always wanted what you could not have.

Whatever hope he had had for a miraculous growth in height died when he reached in puberty, many of the girls outgrowing him as his asthma only became more severe, and his list of health that issues grew by day. If his height somehow did not keep a girl away, the list of health issues longer than he was certainly would.

Then came Doctor Erskine, and with him, the super serum. Suddenly, where there had once been no women, there were many, all wishing to _know_ the man who would become one of America's greatest heroes.

Peggy Carter though, she had known him before and after the syrum, but treated him no differently, the smile on her face the same no matter teh height. For the first time, he did not just want a girl or a family to prove that he _could_ , but because he wanted to see children with her eyes and his hair, wanted to wake up and feel _content_ in a way he never had.

The contentment had come with a price though-, another generation of Rogers who would be left with only a picture on the mantelpiece for a father.

"Steve, please, let's talk about this, we've got time. We can work this out."

"Right now I'm in the middle of nowhere, if I wait any longer a lot of people are going to die, Peg," he squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to rid them of tears, "I'm going to have to put her in the water."

"Steve, please. I'll get Howard on the line, we'll figure something out."

"Peggy," Steve paused, not certain of what to say, not sure how to express all of which he wanted, _needed,_ "Please don't name it after me if it's a boy."

There was a short noise from the speaker, a mixture of a laugh and a sob, "I thought you said it was going to be a girl."

"No, I still reckon it's going to be a girl. I just think it'd be best to cover all options."

A girl is what he'd been silently praying for at least, a girl who would be easier to keep away from the terror of the battle field. Hopefully, either he or she just didn't inherit either of her parent's-

"James then, James Rogers," Peggy's voice stated.

This time Steve couldn't help but laugh, "Bucky's head would have exploded if we named the baby after him," he waited a few seconds before continuing, "Not the first name, not after someone who died during the war, Peg. Let them be their own person, don't give them a ghost for a name."

Steve ignored the way that he could hear Peggy's voice break as she spoke, and the guilt that followed, "Harry James then, Harry James Rogers."

"Harry James," Steve couldn't help the grin that spread over his face, even as the tears fell down it. "I like it Peg, I like it a lot."

Peggy laughed, sounding almost relieved, "What about a girl then?"

Steve paused for a second, "My mum's name was Sarah-, she was one of the strongest people I've known-"

The words 'like you' were on the tip of his tongue before the reminder of his current situation set back in, the icey wall that would become his death approaching him, a reminder that no matter how much they avoided the matter, he wouldn't be around to see their child grow, that the closest he would ever know was the slight rounding of Peggy's stomach.

"Peggy, I'm sorry," his voice broke as the words came out. "I love you."

"Steve, please no," Peggy sounded close to breaking apart, sounding to Steve like the first time something capable of breaking, and not for the first time he wished there could be another way. "Steve no, please don't leave me, please don't leave us, please Steve-"

"Peggy, please tell them I love them, I-"

After that, Steve Rogers knew nothing, nothing except how cold, and how sorry he was.

* * *

Lily Evans couldn't pinpoint the exact moment she had heard the name Harry Rogers, as far as she could remember, he always been there, something you were not supposed to talk about, but yet were endlessly curious about, just like his father, Steve Rogers, and her own father's time in the war. A reminder of a time past, a painful one of which they were not allowed to speak.

Lily's father had been a good man, a war torn one, but nevertheless, a good one. His time working alongside Captain America as a Howling Commando may have left him permanently scarred, both mentally and physically, but it hadn't hurt his kindness and sense of humour, always a good man, a good father. He had always fought for what he had believed in, done right by his wife and two daughters, unlike many of the other men who had come back from that war. Sev-, Snape's father had come back from the war with the idea that violence was the answer to everything, while her own, Timothy 'Dum Dum' Dugan, had come back resenting any form of it.

Obviously, though, she had not inherited that kindness, Lily pondered as she thought back on the situation that had led to where she was now. She and half of her fiancee's friends, half of the Marauders, had stood watching the hidden building which they were meant to soon invade for what felt like hours, when it truly began to click what they were doing, how wrong it truly was. Here they were, three friends who had barely reached adulthood, about to bring a likely brainwashed assassin, who perhaps in another would have been like a cousin, into a war that there was a large chance he would soon be killed in. If it was anyone one else, they'd probably get the kid, _not kid,_ she reminded herself, _a grown man, most definitely a grown man by now,_ a cup of tea, assuming that was, he didn't attempt to kill them. But they needed help, and if a brainwashed assassin was the only help they could get, so be it, she had decided, her mind full of the images of James lying in a hospital bed at Saint Mungo's, and her father's remains littered through the streets where he had once felt safe enough to raise a family.

"Come on," she had spoken suddenly, the sudden interruption scaring herself more than her two friends, "We may as well get it over and done with."

Sirius nodded, "Yes, let's get straight to kidnapping the already kidnapped assassin then."

Despite the reluctance in the animagus' words, he had already begun to stride towards the almost hidden building, Disapparating with a loud crack a second later, leaving only silence in his wake.

"Well then," sighed Remus, after the silence continued to drag, "We better go after him before he gets into _too_ much trouble."

In all fairness, when Lily Evans, daughter of a war hero, had devised a plan to defeat Voldemort with the assistance of a brainwashed assassin, she _had_ expected brainwashed assassin, as horrible as it sounded. Only a few confoundment charms should have had them a brilliant fighter for their cause. When she had informed Dumbledore of her plan, she most certainly had not been expecting a child to the one she found when she had muttered 'Point me, Harry Rogers'. She had most definitely not been expecting to bring a child into a war, most definitely not a child who did not appear to have aged in over thirty years. But it only occurred to her now, she thought as the child that by all rights should have been older than her struggled to wrap his hand around her smallest finger, neither of them really had a choice. It seemed now, that this tiny little thing, this Harry James Rogers, would soon be fighting a war.

* * *

Harry Potter was seven years old when he first prayed for Captain America to save him.

The only reason he knew of the hero, as anything more than a legend, was his hearing heard his Aunt Petunia telling stories of the hero to his cousin, something which he would have usually ignored. Something in the tales sounded familiar though, like something he should almost remember, which was the reason why Harry Potter had remained listening to the story, despite knowing the risk.

"Mummy, I want a bedtime story," were the words that prompted Harry to first hear of America's hero, a demand from his cousin by which would eventually change his life.

Harry could almost remember almost feel his aunt's glee at the request, even as he had attempted to walk down the hall, attempting to silently pull along a basket of laundry.

"Well then, Diddykins, which one do you want to hear? The one abou-"

"No _mummy,_ I want a book. One that tells you stories, not a boring one that you have to _read_ ," Dudley whined, "I want it _now._ "

"Well then," his aunt replied, "Of course, my darling boy, reading will make you even smarter! I'll go to the bookstore tomorrow. Which one do you want?"

"I want one about Captain America, and I need it now, mummy! Everyone else at school knows who he is mummy, they were playing a game today at school. I didn't know who he was, it _wasn't_ fair!"

Harry knew the signs, as obviously did his aunt Petunia. He attempted to drag the laundry quickly, before the storm which was his cousin's temper became a hurricane.

"Oh darling, there's no need to upset," his aunt comforted his cousin, she too afraid of his cousin's temper. "Those nasty other children shouldn't be so mean as to make you feel _dumb,_ Diddykins. I'll have you know, you can go to school tomorrow and tell them that your grandfather, my father, _worked_ with Captain America during the war! More than just worked together, your grandfather was a Howling Commando! He was friends with Captain America!"

Dudley's sniffles had ceased upon hearing the news, as had Harry, who instead of attempting to move soundlessly down the hall had collapsed next to the door, desperate to hear anything about his family, family which wasn't the Dursleys.

"Mummy, tell me about Captain America then! You must know the best stories then!"

"Of course darling, but don't want to hear about your grandfather?"

"I need to know about Captain America! I don't care about him, I need to know about Captain."

Harry almost sighed upon hearing the request, pausing only at the last second. Of course, Dudley didn't want to know about their grandfather, he obviously would much prefer to learn about some famous hero than the man who was the reason they were both alive. _Maybe though_ , he wondered, _if I knew about Captain America the other kids wouldn't mind being friends with him, maybe they'd want to be friends with the grandson of Captain America's friend._ So there he remained, crouching on the floor, eventually becoming as involved in the story as his cousin was.

"Captain America would bash those evil soldier's heads in, wouldn't he mummy?"

"Of course darling, and then-"

Time continued, and Harry became completely embroiled in the tale of a little guy who refused to sit back down, despite that being what the entire world was telling him to do.

"When I'm older I'm going to be Captain America!" Dudley declared.

"Well darling, if you continue to grow as you are I'm sure you can be! And tomorrow, you go to school and tell all those mean children that they shouldn't mess with Dum Dum Doogan's grandson, otherwise Captain America would come after them! And that Captain America does _not_ like bullie-"

"BOY!"

Harry fell from where had been crouching, staring at where his uncle's livid, red face had appeared from the stairs.

"What do you think you're doing! Planning on going in there after my wife is done, ha! Going to steal my Dudley's homework and claim it's yours, again! Well not this time!"

The door of the bedroom swung open just as Harry was pulled to his feet by his hair, dragged towards the stairs and the prison that was underneath them.

"I was just listening to the story, about Captain America!" He protested as he got pushed into the cupboard

"Ha! Freaks like you don't deserve stories, and I'm sure the good Captain would agree with me if he didn't die trying to stop freaks like you!"

The door slammed, once again leaving Harry in the dark.

The following day did not improve for Harry, who upon reaching the school which was so often his safe haven from the Dursleys, found himself being volunteered by Dudley to play the villain from the stories of the night before.

There were some muttering complaints from the other children as Dudley declared himself Captain America, which soon ended as Dudley look at them.

"Commandos! Let's go catch the bad guy!"

Harry barely had a chance to run before the first punch landed, but for once thankful for his small size, slipped under one of the taller boy's arms and began to run, the others following soon behind him. As his breath tired the other students gained the punches began to land once more. Eventually, the disturbance drew the attention of a teacher, but as he continued to try to get up Harry Potter silently prayed for help, for Captain America to miraculously appear and for him to throw the other children off Harry as he told them that he _really_ didn't like bullies.

 **I just have a few things to say, but feel free to skip them as they are not necessary to the story.**

 **Ok, for starters, this is going to be based off the movies, not the comics. Though I'll try my best to keep it comic accurate, I've never read a comic which had a Captain America in it in my life (actually, that's a lie. I think I read one and he was in the background looking pretty, but I can't help but feel that doesn't count.)**

 **Title from Radical Face's 'Wrapped In Piano Strings'.**

 **I'd really appreciate it if you'd review, just so I know people are genuinely interested in this story, and reviews do encourage me to write so I'd really appreciate them.**


	2. There's Something Lost In My Head

**Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Either Harry Potter or the Avengers movie franchise**

 **Excuse Me, I Don't Suppose You Know How To Time Travel?**

 **Chapter Two**

Harry had had his first doubts about whether the polyjuice had been worth it after he had tasted it. His doubts had grown after the process turned out to be completely useless, with Malfoy telling them little more than what they already knew. He truly began to regret it when they found out that Hermione was now _part cat_. Now though, with the potion worn off and the eyes staring back at him in the mirror not his own, he most definitely regretted all the decisions that had led to this.

The blue eyes that were reflected in the mirror were definitely not the ones that had stared back at him only an hour previously, definitely not the green that had been the only thing he had from his mother. The hair that grew on his head was not what he was used to, brown, with blonde highlights, replacing what had once been black. And he didn't even want to get started on his _face._

"What's going on, Hermione?" He asked, ignoring his friend's currently furry face as he began threading his fingers through the brown, _oh my god brown why was his hair brown, it was supposed to go back to its original form why wasn't it black_ , hair that now grew on his head. "Is this a side effect?"

"I don't know," she stuttered, "I have a reason for still being a cat, it was a mistake, but you-, you turned into Goyle, you should be back to yourself, you should be back to your original-"

Hermione stopped, her eyes going wide, and Harry stared at her as he continued to run his fingers over his face, _why was this happening why was this happening oh Merlin._

"Well, obviously Hermione," Ron spoke, his familiar red head nodding as he did, a twitch of a smile on his face, "You made a mistake. I know this might be a bit hard for you to understand, it's hard for _me_ to understand but-"

"Ron, if I had made a mistake with the potion you would look different as well, not just Harry. I know where I made the mistake for me, but I didn't make a mistake with the potion itself. It was perfect if I say so myself. Something was wrong with _Harry_ , not with the potion."

"Wow Hermione, thanks," he said dryly as Ron began to laugh.

"I didn't mean it like _that_ , Harry. Ron, do be quiet," Hermione snapped, Ron's snickers ceasing before continuing, "Harry, the potion takes you back to your original form. It's possible that this how you're supposed to look."

Seconds passed, eventually being broken by a girl's, Myrtle's, quiet snickers. Harry had to resist the urge to yell at the ghost.

"Hermione, I look _nothing_ like my parents."

Hermione's brown eyes looked at him with sympathy, as if her own face wasn't covered in fur, "I know."

"You can't honestly be thinki-," Harry shook his head, _there was no way, his parents were Lily and James Potter._ "I look just like them, like my dad, but with mum's eyes, they were my parents, they died protecting me, Hermione there's no way-"

He cut himself off, his breath becoming short as he felt his heart stutter and his throat begin to tighten, soon beginning to pace back and forth across the bathroom floor.

"Harry," he stopped, staring at his bushy haired friend, who had begun to speak once again, "You don't look like them anymore. And honestly, don't you think it was a little _weird_? You looked _so_ much like your dad, James Potter I mean, too much like him. It's the first thing everyone who knew them says. You can't say that it _isn't_ a little bit weird."

"I look like him because he's my _dad,_ Hermione."

Hermione's eyes passed over him, before narrowing. "Harry, when was the last time you got a hair cut?"

Harry drew his eyebrows down, what had been panic quickly becoming confused. "I don't know. My aunt cut my hair off a few years ago, but my magic just made it grow back. What's that got to do with anything though?"

Though the question might have appeared strange, the laughter had quickly left Ron's face, but Hermione only nodded, looking as if she had expected the answer.

"Harry, mate, your hair should have grown," Ron began, "And magic-, unless you're born with it, it can't affect your appearance, not unless you use a potion or a spell, and that only changes things-, it can't create things that aren't there."

"There are spells, they're meant to be illegal, they can make you look exactly like someone, like how you look almost exactly how they looked at the same age. If they had cast that type of spell on you, Harry, it would explain why you look so much like your fa-, James Potter."

"James Potter was my _father_ _._ I look like him because I'm his _son,_ " Harry replied, his mind beginning to race. _"_ And I have my mum's eyes, so I am not an exact replica."

"Those spells can be adapted, Harry."

"There was a lot of children taken from You-Know-Who's followers during the war," Ron offered, looking like he regretted the words a second later when both his and Hermione's eyes flew towards him. "It wouldn't matter if you were Harry, you're still our friend no matter who your parents are-"

"It would matter to me!" The words exploded from him, echoing through the bathroom, causing even Myrtle to stop giggling. "It would matter if my parents, my _biological_ parents, worked for the man who wanted to, wants to, kill me! It would matter to me if my parents worked for the man who killed my _other_ parents! It would matter to me if my parents were mass murdering -"

"Harry! Be quiet!" Hermione shouted, ripping Harry silent of all words, leaving him feeling like he was about to collapse. "Harry, you shouldn't get yourself stressed out, you know how it affects your breathing."

Harry sighed, nodding as he took a step back so he was leaning against the sink, his knees shaking beneath him. A definite wheeze had entered his breath; becoming angry, yelling, would most definitely not help it. Why on Earth did everything have to happen to him, he wondered, the one solid thing in his life, the one thing he could always count on, and it might not even be true.

"You'll be able to turn me back, right?"

Hermione shook her head, "I'm sorry, but I don't think so. It would be far too advanced of a spell for us, assuming that it even exists."

Would that mean he might have to live with supporters of Voldemort if the Ministry found out? He hoped not, he rather enjoyed being alive. That was assuming though, that his parents hadn't been locked up. At least he was quite certain he wasn't a Malfoy, though it would have been rather enjoyable to see Malfoy's face if he had been, but living with Malfoy permanently would undoubtedly have removed that any amusement from that situation.

"There are other ways though, we can't turn you back but we can change some of your base features. Turn your hair and eyes back of course, and you should wear your glasses. If we then tried a disillusionment spell, it should at least stop people from noticing. Except Ron and I that, or anybody else who you tell, or any people who know already."

"You can do it?" He asked, feeling almost sick with relief.

"Of course I could, normally, but currently I am part cat so I'm not so sure-"

"Just do it, Hermione. And if anything goes wrong, Madam Pomfrey will just have two visitors instead one."

Hermione sighed, looking like she wanted to argue, but nodded once she saw his face. As she pointed her wand at him and began softly muttering a spell, Harry found himself looking at the mirror, watching transfixed as his hair began to turn black and his eyes returned to their usual green.

* * *

"There were eighteen children taken from You-Know-Who's followers during the war. Only four of them were both boys and the right age," Hermione stated, dropping the parchment which had taken them almost six months to find on the desk in front of Harry. "I've underlined all of them. Antonin Dolohov junior, Randolph Lestrange, Vance-"

"Hermione, I can read, thanks," Harry snapped, regret arriving only a second later when he saw his friend's face fall, "Sorry Hermione, I'm a little stressed."

Both Ron and Hermione traded glances, Hermione eventually nodding her head as Ron began to speak.

"Harry, are you sure you want to do this? I get why you want to know who your parents are, but it's not going to help you. I just think mate, that honestly it isn't worth it, it's just going to hurt you, honestly I'm not really sure you should do it-"

"Ron, I get it. My parents could be maniacs, but I honestly don't care, I still want to know who they are. I want to know where I came from. And what if I was taken from one of the people who weren't in control of themselves, or what if my biological parents were just friends of James and Lily, not even Death Eaters but they were killed fighting against them. I _need_ to know."

Both his friends eventually nodded, understanding but reluctance covering their faces.

"Alright, Harry. I suppose we better get started then, we don't have long until we need to leave. Ron, you take Dolohov, Harry, you can have Lestrange. I'll take Rosier and Montague."

An hour later, Harry knew for certain that he _did_ not want to a Lestrange. Reading through the list of Rabastan's crimes left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, and he hoped that the other families were at least a _little_ bit nicer. He almost felt like shouting in relief when he discovered that there was no way he could, in fact, be Rabastan's missing son, not with his wife being of Italian origin. Both of his two faces were far too pale, and neither parent had the blue eyes that he must have inherited from somewhere.

"Well, I'm not a Lestrange," he told his two friends, barely restraining from muttering 'thank Merlin'.

"You're not a Rosier either, though you could possibly be a Montague-, no you couldn't," Hermione corrected, picking up an article in front of her. "Their child was actually a girl. With a name like that! Ron?"

"I don't know, you could possibly be Dolohov junior, you kind of suit the physical appearance," Ron muttered, "He had blue eyes I mean, and brown hair, like you."

"Do you have a photo?"

Ron nodded, passing his two articles across the table to Hermione, "There are photos of both Dolohov parents and junior in there."

Hermione snatched the two articles off the table before Harry had a chance to look at them, lifting them both up to the sides of Harry's face to compare them.

"Should I take the charms off?" Harry asked.

"No, there isn't any point. Dolohov Junior has a rune on his left cheek, some kind of pureblood enchantment. They never fade, you're definitely not him. Anyway, you really don't look much like Dolohov or his wife, they both had more Roman noses for starters. I don't know who your parents were, Harry, but they weren't Death Eaters. At least, they weren't any of these Death Eaters."

Relief washed over Harry at the words. Could his parents still be alive, could they be good people who by some twist of fate lost their child? We're they wizards, or were they be muggles? He barely had a chance to consider the possibility of a normal, kind family before his thoughts were interrupted by their librarian's entrance into their hollow.

"Well, I hope you're planning on cleaning this up! Barely two hours until the Hogwarts express leaves, and you're making a mess! Honestly, Ms Granger, I thought you would know better than this!"

Hermione began a stuttering reply, as both he and Ron stood up and began returning the articles to their original places. After Hermione finished reassuring Madam Pince that _none of the articles were damaged, they were_ _all perfectly okay_ , she joined them.

"Your name though," the girl muttered, frustration crossing her face, "If it's actually your name that is, it rings a bell. Harry James, it always reminded me of something, and I can never remember what exactly. Oh well, it's probably quite a common name. Harry, you do know we're going to found out who your parents were, right?"

He nodded his head as he put the article on Lestrange back into its slot, "Thanks."

"Yeah, mate. And I mean, if they're not Death Eaters, they can't be much worse than the Dursleys, right?"

* * *

The two weeks since the Hogwarts Express had left Hogwarts had passed quickly, the train taking Harry away from the only home he could remember, and back to a life of locked doors and shrieked words. During the two weeks that had passed since he had left the magical castle though, Harry Potter had come to a firm opinion, that Ron was wrong, if his parents were worse than the Dursleys and were not Death Eaters, there remained a calibre of human that yet were worse; Marjorie Dursley.

"You were too damn nice to keep the boy here, Vernon, he would have gone straight to the orphanage if he had been dumped on my doorstep. They undoubtedly have more experience with this kind of thing, hopeless cases and such-, not to insult your parenting skills, Petunia, just look at Dudders! Perfectly behaved young man, don't think I could have asked for a more perfect nephew!", Marge gestured with her wine glass towards her nephew, before returning her beady eyes to where Harry was seated. "Just go to shows, as I've always said, if there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup-"

The glass of wine in Marge's hand exploded, soaking her face in wine. Harry tried to steady his breathing, words of the book which he had been silently reciting in his head for the three previous days echoing through his head as both his uncle's beady eyes stared at him suspiciously.

"Oh! Not to worry Petunia," Marj reassured the woman who had rushed to grab a cloth, "I have a very firm grip, the same thing happened Colonel Flubster's a few days ago-, boy, you go grab a cloth, save your aunt the trouble."

As Harry stood, walking towards the kitchen as he struggled to regather the control of his magic, which he could almost feel growing like a bubble within his chest-, like a simple prick of a needle could make it burst-, the conversation about the woman who had sacrificed her life to save his own continued, the words following Harry as if a shadow as he walked, offering the red faced woman the cloth as he sat.

"Not that I have anything against your family, Petunia, besides your sister, they were all perfectly acceptable people. There's always going to a runt to the litter, Petunia, always going to be a runt, of course, with dogs, you drown them," Harry was almost certain that if not for their being an absent of wine glasses, another one would have exploded at his aunt's comment, "Mind you though, your father was always a little off, I think you mentioned in the past that he was always a bit absent wasn't he? Which isn't to say that isn't acceptable, a man must keep his family warm after all, but that could be where you sister got it from I suppose."

Petunia's face had become slightly sour at the comment about her father, but she smiled politely as she replied.

"Lily got her strangeness from one of the neighbourhood boys, I always used to tell her to stop socialising with him, but she never did. Dad though, my father, he was on the frontlines in the World War, he fought alongside Captain America. I wasn't born at the right time I'd say, for him to be a father, but my sister, she was four years younger than me, by the time she was born he was ready. He was a good man though, the war just left more than physical wounds on many."

"Well said, Petunia," her sister in law nodded, now filling her water glass with wine, "Of course, now that you've reminded me, didn't he come here looking for Captain America's son? Such a pity that was, and I suppose your father was probably quite busy looking for the boy."

Harry froze, the words of the Handbook of Do-it-Yourself Broomcare fleeing his mind at the knowledge. Captain America had had a son? His cousin, Dudley, seemed equally as shocked at the knowledge, staring at his aunt Marj with his mouth hung open.

"Captain America had a kid? You never told me about that, Mum!"

Before Aunt Petunia had a chance to reply, Marj began talking once again.

"Of course! It was a big controversy when people found out about him, an even bigger one when he went missing! Probably kidnapped by Nazis or another enemy of Captain America. Of course, there's the theory that he was taken by a scientist trying to recreate the serum, Stark, for instance, but I like to think there is some good in the world. And you really mustn't blame your mum for not speaking of the boy, Dudders, undoubtedly a painful memory for her. He probably would have been a cousin in another life, but instead, he stole her father! Right, Petunia?"

Aunt Petunia smiled weakly at Marge and Dudley, her eyes narrowing upon catching Harry's gaze. Vernon's booming laughter though broke her from her trance.

"And I have no doubt, Dudley, that you would have looked just like the boy! You two would have looked just like cousins, no doubt about it!" Vernon boomed, spit flying over the table in front of them, "Both blonde, blue-eyed and big! Unlike you and..."

The three pairs of eyes which had not already been staring at him turned to face him, all with similar looks of disgust in their eyes.

"Yes, what was the Captain's son's name again, wasn't it-"

"Harry," Petunia informed, looking at him with the same unidentifiable expression she had been since first catching his gaze, her voice becoming little more than a whisper as she continued, "Harry James Rogers."

A few seconds of silence passed, in which Harry's heart stuttered before the woman which had long since been before his personification of the devil began to speak again, pulling him from the quick succession his thoughts were beginning to take.

"Well then! That's just disrespectable, naming your own son after Captain America's son, when that boy is almost definitely dead! Especially when you were family friends! And could you imagine a boy less like Captain America boy, the nerve of that girl," Marge ceased her rant to laugh, ignorant of the way which Harry's heart had begun to beat faster, "What did I tell you, Petunia, Vernon, rotten, absolutely rotten."

This time when the glass in Marge's hand exploded, it was followed in quick succession by rest of the glasses sat on the table, it's substance splattering across the faces of the people who were both his relatives and his tormentors. Somehow, Harry thought as he stared at the red liquid soaking one of Aunt Petunia's best tablecloths, this might not be so easily explained by Marge's firm grip.

Several more seconds passed in which Petunia's face regained its colour, and Vernon's face became the colour of an apple before the familiar word ripped through Four Privet Drive.

"BOY!"

* * *

At the earliest possible time, Harry fled the house in which he had grown, running to the only place that offered peace from his relatives, shelter from the smouldering sun, and possibly, he hoped, answers.

 _You're being ridiculous_ , he thought as he entered the library, how in Merlin's name could be be Captain America's son? There were probably heaps of other people in the world named Harry James, or Harry James or whatever, it's was just a coincidence.

But despite his mind's protests, a small part of him had begun to hope, a tiny flame that had been ignited by both the name spoken across the table the night before, and his aunt Petunia's unreadable expression as she had looked at him. Why on earth would Lily Evans have named her son after a boy who she had never met, but in his aunt Marge's words would have been like a cousin? Especially, a boy who wasn't even her own son, and as far as his and his friend's searches could find, had no previous record.

Or perhaps, argued the part of the mind which remained rational, you so badly want to find your parents, to know that they weren't really Death Eaters or that they gave you up because they didn't want you, that you're thinking irrationally.

But Harry had long since accepted that as fact, that this was most likely an illusion of a wishful mind, but it had come to the point where he knew that refusing to offer himself the knowledge of who Harry Rogers had been, would only leave a question in the back of his mind until the matter was solved.

As he passed by the librarian's desk, he ignored her suspicious looks, likely due either to his aunt Petunia's warnings or his being a teenager, as he continued on his way to the history section, shuffling through the books before finding 'Captain America: The True Story of America's Hero'. Casting a last glance at the librarian who had remained staring at him, he offered a quick smile which she didn't return, before ducking out of her sight and into one of the many alcoves of the library.

Harry flipped the biography open, glancing through the pages before landing on the chapter labelled 'Personal Life'. Taking a deep breath, Harry pulled the book open and began to read.

 _Steven Grant Rogers was born in Brooklyn, in the year of 1918 on the July the 4th to Irish immigrants, Sarah and Joseph Rogers._

Harry stopped, taking another deep breath as the already known information washed over him before skipping forward another few paragraphs.

 _During Rogers' recruitment in 1939, he was first introduced to Agent Margaret 'Peggy' Carter, an Englishwoman who in 1944 he would secretly marry. The two's connection has been described as instant, the two meeting before Rogers had been injected with the serum, and sources claim that Carter was interested in him before it, due to the 5'4" asthmatic's determination._

 _During the year after their marriage, the two would conceive their first and only child, who would be named Harry James Rogers through the brief contact in his father's final moments. Harry was born on May the 22, weighing less than the average new born should, weighing only 4.8 pounds. Though he showed no evidence of inheriting the super soldier serum, to the disappointment of many, he was considerably healthier than his father's own original body, despite having inherited his asthma. Harry James Rogers was named after his father's best friend, James Buchanan Barnes, and his first name so that, in his mother's words, 'he could be his own person'._

 _Unfortunately, on the 17th of May, 1946, Harry Rogers was reported missing by his mother, which prompted a worldwide search for the not quite year old, who was unfortunately never found. Many theories have questioned the whereabouts of America's hero's only child, including that of his being taken to see if one could find the secret of the Super Soldier Serum in his blood, but the genuinely accepted cause of the boy's abduction is that of revenge against his father._

Before Harry could truly begin to think of the words spinning in his head, his eyes were flying to the images on the page in front of him, of a skinny man with military tags draped around his neck, of a pretty woman with hauntingly familiar kind brown eyes, too dressed in a military uniform, to lastly a small baby wrapped in a white blanket.

It wasn't possible, it truly wasn't possible, but Harry had already begun to draw the resemblances between the photographs and his own face; the woman's hair, the soft curls, the man's ears, sticking out ever so slightly. It wasn't possible, but the eyes which he had spent so long looking at in the mirror were an exact match to both the baby in the photograph and the man which was his father.

How? Could his father have been Harry? Could he have approached Lily Evans, a family friend and asked her to protect his child? _Or_ , a small part of his brain had begun to whisper, _you are Harry Rogers, but you somehow ended up in this time_. Was time travel possible? Could Lily Evans have stolen him from his cot all those years ago, and brought him forward to this time to face Voldemort? Magic could do incredible things, but surely it couldn't explain how if he was really Harry Rogers he hadn't aged in over thirty years?

He didn't know, Harry thought as he stood and walked towards the photocopier, but, he was certain he knew people who would know the answer to the questions, who would know if he was truly Captain America's son or not.

 _And either I'm his son_ , Harry thought as he left the library, the librarian's eyes remaining on his back and the photocopied photographs underneath his arm as he strode out of the place which had planted a thousand questions within his brain, _Or I'm about to make a massive fool of myself_.

 **Well, this might be slightly late. Oops**

 **I know this is late, but I'll hopefully get a few more updates out of the next few weeks, after that, however, I'll be back at school at which time I have to balance homework, which is why this chapter is so late. But this story is most definitely not abandoned.**

 **Chapter title from The Strumbella's 'Spirit'.**

 **Please leave a review, I really do appreciate the feedback**


	3. You Said, We're Just The Walking Dead

**Excuse Me, I Don't Suppose You Know How To Time Travel?**

 **Chapter Three**

Number four Privet Drive was empty by the time which Harry had reached the household, with it's other inhabitants having taken Aunt Marge back to London, from which she would return to her dogs, and thankfully, out of Harry's life.

Less helpful though, was the absence of aunt Petunia, who's gaze over the table the night before had helped to lay the foundation of the questions which now plagued him. Had she thought her sister's naming him Harry James strange? Had she questioned the name as she had watched him grow, comparing him to a boy who should long since be dead?

The thumping in his chest had continued to grow, the thought of waiting for his aunt's return to begin questioning her unbearable. Harry began to pace back and forth in front of the window, dropping the photocopied pages about Steve Rogers on the couch as he watched out the window? How long would it take for the Dursleys to return? How long had it been since they had left? As he continued to pace across the Dursleys good rug, his mind was full of unanswered questions which his mind was desperately trying to supply answers to.

According to the words which had been spoken the previous night, Dum Dum Dugan had spent years searching for his friend's missing son, and if Harry was indeed Harrison Rogers, he could probably assume that that was the link which had brought him to this family. Had the man who he had long since thought his grandfather given him to Lily Evans to raise? Or could he have left something behind that helped his youngest daughter to find him? Before the thought had fully processed through his head, Harry was running towards his cousin's bedroom.

When Harry had moved into his cousin's second bedroom, Dudley had only chosen to keep a few things, such as the things he had not yet become bored of, such as his computer, but also the one thing which Dudley knew Harry would have been thrilled to keep: Dum Dum Dugan's journals.

His cousin's room was, unsurprisingly, a mess but it didn't take Harry long to find the journals, not with their being the only books on the shelf which otherwise only contained the many things Dudley had collected over the last few years. The journals were sat beneath a remote control tank, which looked to be almost as covered in dust as the journals themselves were.

There were four journals in total, all quite small, leather bound, and one, Harry couldn't help but notice looked like it had blood on it. Flipping through each journal, Harry gave a disappointed sigh when none looked to give the answers which he had sought. Though each journal was almost entirely full of the tales of Timothy 'Dum Dum' Dugan, both before and after the war, besides the one which was dated September 2,1945-, none gave the answers to which he had hoped they would.

Though the journals offered little confirmation of his suspicions, Harry did feel that another piece of a puzzle had fallen into place at the knowledge that Harrison had been known to family friends as 'Harry'. Harry once again began to flip through the journal, hoping to find something of interest besides the depressing comment of 'He's gone', dated 11th of March. When nothing revealed itself, he began to read the journal, which had begun with the words 'It's over'. Harry quickly became engrossed in the novel, in the hope that he might find the answers which had plagued him for over half a year in it, but found himself jumping when he heard the front door of Four Privet Drive open.

Silence followed the door opening, in which Harry stood, silently attempting to put three of the four journals back underneath the toy tank before a high pitched shriek of 'BOY' came hurtling at him. Harry barely had time to thank Merlin for it being Aunt Petunia, and for the questions which he wanted to ask her to once again began circling through his head, before a yell of 'WHAT IS THIS MESS'.

When Harry finally reached halfway down the stairs, the journal still clutched in his hand, he was greeted by the sight of a pale-faced Petunia clutching the papers in her hands as she stared at him.

"What is this?" his aunt asked, her voice shaky.

Harry considered the question for several seconds, before answering truthfully, "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Petunia asked, her colour beginning to return to her face as she laughed bitterly, "You don't know? I'll tell you what it looks like, you, a boy who lives in my home, with that name, looking at this information? I'll tell you what it looks like, boy, suspicious, and we don't need people asking questions, especially not yo-"

"Especially not me? I think I'm the one who deserves the-"

"You think you're the one who deserves the answers?! You!" Petunia's face had become red, shaking no longer with whatever emotion had overtaken her earlier, but with anger. "You don't think I deserve them! A baby dumped on my doorstep, supposedly my nephew who Lily never thought to mention to me, not even at our parent's funeral, a baby with that name? Why would my sister, who hated that child almost as much as I do, name her baby after him? Don't you think I deserve answers? But no, she had to go and get herself BLOWN UP, leaving me with you, with her eyes, but who's absolutely nothing like her!"

"SHUT IT!" Harry yelled at the last words, the word vibrating through the house, almost feeling like a breeze had passed through it. Surely his mother-, Lily hadn't hated him? She had died for him of course, she couldn't have - not unless she had known what would happen to Voldemort? By the time which Harry regained control of his breathing and his thoughts, he once again found himself looking at Petunia, who was now staring at him as if looking at a ghost. Seconds passed while they stared at each other, Petunia wide eyed and Harry full of anger, until he finally noticed the reason for Petunia's starring: a lock of brown hair dangling in front of his eyes.

Harry's only thoughts were of panic, before Petunia seemed to regain control over herself enough to whisper the words which echoed through the house.

"Get out."

Harry opened his mouth once, perhaps to argue, he wasn't sure, but Petunia cut himself once again, in the same whispered tone.

"Don't argue, get out of my house now. You've brought my family enough trouble."

This time, when Harry opened his mouth it wasn't to argue, perhaps it showed on his face because Petunia didn't cut him off. "I'll go get my stuff."

The first thing Harry did upon reaching his room was release Hedwig, who took to soaring above the house of Privet Drive, causing thrilled shouts from one of the neighbour's children. After Harry finished packing everything he owned - along with the Dum Dum Dugan's journal, he hoped the man wouldn't mind - into one of Dudley's old backpacks he continued down the stairs to find that Petunia had already opened the cupboard door. Dragging the trunk from the place which had once been the only place he could call his own, he stared at the small area before bitterly whispering, "Goodbye home."

Taking one last glance at the cupboard, now almost entirely full of cleaning supplies, he grabbed one of the small plastic which dotted the shelves, before stuffing them in a pocket, and closing the cupboard door behind him.

Petunia stood near the door, her face showing no sign if she was struggling with her decision to throw out the boy who had once been her nephew. Instead, she she almost shoved something in his direction, watching him as he carefully the object out of her hand.

"That's was the journal that my father put all the information about his search for Harry R-, you, in. After he was killed, I was supposed to keep it. Instead my sister teared all the information out," Harry's eyes flew to Petunia's, which had begun to show something that looked suspiciously like sympathy. "I don't know what she did with it. There's also some money, it should be enough to get you London, at least if you walk for an hour first, I know there's that place there, you should be able to stay there until your school starts again."

Whatever sign of sympathy there had been disappeared with the next second, in which Petunia straightened her back and narrowed her eyes at him as she began to open the door. "You need to keep your face covered, at least until you get out of Surrey, after that I don't really care, but if you lead anyone back to us _you will regret it._ "

As Harry stepped out the doorway, pulling the hood of Dudley's old oversized jacket over his face, and carrying everything he owned, he turned back to face Petunia one last time.

"Thank you, Aunt Petunia."

The woman's eyes narrowed at him, "Never come back here."

And as the door slammed behind Harry, he wondered if he should be happy to be leaving the place which had long since been his hell, or worried that he had just left the place which he had lived for the twelve years of his life. But perhaps, Harry thought, amused as he walked along the ordinary streets of Privet Drive, his reflection in the passing the face which he was born with, that was really only a bit over a sixth in his life anyway.

* * *

The Leakey Cauldron was both very similar to how Harry remembered it, and simultaneously incredibly different. Though the place was still darkly lit, the ground sinking from use, the lack of people who stood, gawking at him and scar, or those who were trying to look like they weren't staring which, needless to say, did not work, was enough to change the place drastically. The scar had unfortunately remained on his forehead despite his change in appearance, but without the trademark black hair, he rarely recieved a second glance.

The weeks which passed in which Harry wandered both Diagon Alley and muggle London were the most peaceful Harry could remember, the only source of possible fear being the escape of Sirius Black, a man who was often referred to as 'You Know Who's right hand man'. But, comforted himself, if he did happen to come across the man, he wouldn't even recognise him as Harry Potter. Harry spent the first week of his freedom in the sunlight in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour doing his homework, where there were many wizards and witches who were willing to help with the homework he did not understand. The fact that the Hogwarts curriculum did not appear to have changed since they had gone there certainly helped. When not doing homework or admiring the new broom the 'Firebolt' in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry found himself converting the money in his vault to the British pound, and wandering the streets of muggle London.

The streets of muggle London were as busy, if not more so, than Diagon Alley, and Harry often found himself in the bookstores or libraries of the city, desperately trying to find more information about the boy which he may or not have been. It was during those times that he occasionally found people staring at him, when he was standing next to a poster of Captain America saluting, or holding a book about Agent Peggy Carter. Though there were many books on Captain America, the one on the woman who might be his mother was something he hadn't hesitated before buying. Neither did he hesitate before buying 'Harrison Rogers: the search for America's lost son'. Despite the growing number of books that lay besides his bed in the Leakey Cauldron, his search was offering little useful information, though it offered many more possible puzzle pieces. A theory for instance, had begun after Captain America's crashing his plane, which thought that the man might in fact be alive within the ice he had crashed in, not aging due to the super soldier syrum. However, the only solid information Harry found was that if he was the missing son of Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter, he could truly be proud of the woman who might be his mother.

He was yet to tell either Hermione or Ron of his suspicions; he was quite certain that Hermione would think he was drastically grasping at straws, and truly, who could blame her. Ron, however, would end up telling someone in his excitement. Despite being quite blind to the ways of muggle culture, had grown up with tales of Captain America from his father, and seemed to have a mild case of hero worship for the super soldier. Harry had gotten a shock the previous year when Ron had traded his favourite chocolate frog card, Merlin, who was quite rare, for one of Dean's Captain America trading cards. Harry did feel rather guilty for keeping his suspicions from his two best friends, but he took comfort in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to for much longer.

He had recieved seperatte letters from both Hermione and Ron a few days prior, asking that they could meet him in Diagon Alley a few days before going back to Hogwarts, to which Harry had eagerly agreed, leading him to once again being sat at one of the booths in Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, but this time, waiting for his two best friends.

It was Ron he spotted first, looking wildly around the ice cream parlour as he entered, Hermione close behind him, two two ordering icecreams before beginning to question where he was. It took a few seconds, in which Harry could hear them discussing the possibility of his not yet being there, before Ron spotted him, freezing slightly before pointing in his direction. Hermione's eyes widened upon spotting him, before narrowing in disbelief.

"Harry James Potter, what were you thinking?" the girl asked as she slipt into the chair across from him, an icecream in her hand and Ron a second behind her.

"I was thinking I'm not actually a Potter, Hermione," Harry said, rolling his eyes. Hermione glared at him, and he sighed, "It wasn't a choice, 'mione, it just happened."

"Accidental magic?" Ron asked, aghast, "Surely you've grown out of that by now, I mean, most people get the hang of it when they start going to Hogwarts."

Harry glared at Ron for a few seconds, the redhead eventually realising the implications of what he was saying, and rushed to correct himself, Hermione rolling her eyes as he did.

"I don't mean you're slow, or anything Harry," Ron stumbled, "I just mean, maybe you're just so powerful that you haven't got proper control of your magic yet! I mean you did manage to defeat You Know Who, it would make sense."

Several heads in the parlour turned to face them at the name, but all quickly returned to their ice creams.

"Ronald," Hermione hissed at their friend, "Do try to be a bit quieter. Oh, but Harry," she suddenly swung around to face him, "How long has it been since it happened? How did the Dursleys react? Are you alright?"

Harry could barely keep himself from wincing at the question, to which Hermione's eyes widened slightly.

"Oh Harry, you haven't been staying at the Leakey Cauldron by yourself, have you?" she asked. When he didn't answer, she continued, horrified, "Harry! Sirius Black, didn't you know how much danger you could be i-"

"He's not going to recognise me with this face, Hermione. And I'm being careful."

Ron scoffed at the comment, "The day you're careful Harry, that's a day I'd pay to see. Actually I wouldn't pay but-, but anyway, Hermione's right, Harry. If you had told us you could have come with us at Egypt. There was plenty of room for you, it would have been great fun. More fun than you could have had here. What have you been doing here, anyway?"

Harry sighed, his two friends now both staring at him with expectant looks on their faces."I've been trying to find my biological parents."

Once again, Hermione and Ron shared careful glances, before looking at him.

"You don't seem very enthusiastic, you haven't found them?"

"I don't know," Harry responded, shaking his head, "I have a possibility, I guess, but it seems impossible .It was something aunt Petunia mentioned, but you're going to think I've gone completely insane. I have it all back in my room at the Leakey Cauldron, I'd much rather show you, but please, just please, listen to me before having me carted off to Saint Mungos."

Both Ron and Hermione glanced at each other again as Harry stood, confirming that his suspicion that he was quickly going to become sick of their shared glances, before too standing to follow him back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

His room at the Leakey Cauldron was hardly the five star hotel one might expect from such a famous place, Harry had been severely underwhelmed when he had first stepped into the room which he would be staying for several weeks, but now, with the books and photocopied pieces of paper scattered across the floor he barely noticed.

It seemed that neither Ron or Hermione shared the same oppinion though, both of their eyes taking in the room's dusty curtains and the rest of it's equally drab furnishing, giving Harry the few seconds he needed to grab a couple of pieces of paper and push the rest of his research under his bed, before they remembered the matter at hand.

"Harry, calm down," Hermione said, as Harry picked up a plastic figure that he had knocked to the ground in his frenzy, "Whatever it is, it surely can't be that bad. And your asthma, Harry, getting stressed, especially in a place as dusty as this, is not going to do any of us favours."

Harry laughed nervously, looking at the photo of Peggy Carter in his hand, and the plastic soldier in the other. "You really don't understand how absolutely crazy it's going to sound, Hermione. Just please, hear me out."

Before either of his friends had time to reply, Harry placed the toy soldier into his pocket before offering his two friends the photograph, causing both of their eyes to widen as Hermione grabbed the piece of paper.

"Harry-"

"Merlin, mate," Ron cut Hermione off, eyes wide, "If that's who you think is your mum, I can't blame you, you look like her, that's for sure. Is she a muggle?"

"Ron, be quiet, please." Hermione spoke, voice hushed and leaving little doubt for Harry she knew who the woman in the photograph was. Ron's eagerness faded quickly, confusion overtaking it.

"Harry, I understand that it must be hard for you, to not know who your parents are, but, Harry, this is-"

"Insane?" Harry laughed, "Yeah, that's what I thought at first, but Hermione, please, just hear me out."

Harry waited several seconds, in which Hermione eventually nodded and Ron continued to look confused.

"I feel like I've been left out of something here, guys," Ron commented, eyes glancing between them, "Maybe explain? Please"

"Ron," Hermione began, after a few seconds of silence on Harry's part. "The woman in the photograph was Captain America's wife, and the mother of his kidnapped son."

Before Ron began could raise his disbelief, Harry spoke again, "What was Captain America's son's name, Hermione?"

Ron fell silent, and Harry could see the realisation enter Hermione's eyes as she stared wide at him, mouthing the name.

"That's why it sounded so familar! Harry James!" Hermione cried, as if she had found the answer for a question which had long plauged her, "Oh, but Harry, just because you share the same name-"

"And look like his mother-"

"Doesn't mean you're him. There's only so much magic can do, it surely isn't possible that you could have time travelled."

"I'm not suggesting time travel, Hermione," Harry sighed, dragging his hands through his hair, "There was a theory after the war that Captain America might be alive within the ice, not aging. I know, it sounds impossible, but Howard Stark believed it, so surely there's a chance? And perhaps who ever kidnapped m-, Harrison Rogers, could have somehow frozen him in time too."

Both Ron and Hermione remained silent, looking at the photograph in front of him, before casting their eyes back to Harry. Undettered, Harry continued, this time shoving a photo of Captain America and the Howling Commandos towards them. Gingerly, Ron took the paper, starting Harry on his rampage again.

"It's not just the fact we share the names or look alike-, here," Harry said, handing them another photo, this time of the baby Harrison Rogers. "My mum, Lily Evans I mean, she was the daughter of Dum Dum Doogan, one of the Howling Commandos. He was Captain America's friend, and when Harrison went missing, he spent years looking for him. Why would my mum have named her son after him? According to Aunt Petunia, who's convinced I am Harry Rogers by the way, she hated Harrison-"

"Harry, be quiet." Hermione spoke, her face now complementative as she stared at him. Harry looked at her expectantly, and Ron glanced back and forth between them, occasionally stopping to compare Harry to the photographs of the people who might be his parents. Hermione sighed, nodding, "There's most definitely a lot of evidence, and I really can't say that any thing Howard Stark agreed with could be completely insane, but surely you understand that this, at the current moment, it just looks like a theory. It looks like something that a wishful mind made up."

Harry stared at her for a few seconds, before sighing dissapointedly, and nodding, and began trying to think of something to say. Before he had the chance to though, Hermione began to speak again.

"Which is why, Harry, Ron, we need to find more evidence. I'm quite certain that Peggy Carter is still alive, I saw something about her on the television a few weeks ago, and I'm quite certain that she would love to have her son back," as a gentle smiled pulled at Hermione's mouth, Harry could barely keep the grin from his face.

"If you are Harrison Rogers, you've been gone from your home for far too long."

Title from Radical Face's Wrapped In Piano Strings

Thank you so much for the reviews on the last chapter, they really did encourage me to write. Please keep them coming, I really appreciate them!


	4. Close The Door, Please Don't Let Them In

**Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Either Harry Potter or the Marvel Cinematic Universe**

 **Excuse Me, I Don't Suppose You Know How To Time Travel?**

 **Chapter Six**

 **And I Always Feel You In My Blood**

For the first time that Harry could remember, he was dreading the return to Hogwarts, the return to a place which could very well mean the temporary end to the search for answers about who his parents were. Perhaps it was because of this, that it was all too soon that Harry found himself reapplying the charms which hid his face and greeting the Weasley family for the trip to Kings Cross Station.

"Harry dear, you are far too skinny," greeted the Weasley matron, engulfing him in her embrace, "Ron here is growing like a weed. Have you been eating enough? Have your relatives been treating you well?"

"They've been treating me fine, Mrs Weasley," he reassured her, as she sent her husband a doubtful glance, but was delayed from persuing the matter by the appearance of her twin sons, Fred and George.

"Harry dear, how simply marvellous it is to see you!" exclaimed George, enthusiastically shaking his hand, his twin appearing at his shoulder a second later.

"It's simply spiffing to see you again, my boy," Fred said, laying an arm across his shoulders. "And how has your time spent free of my youngest brother's odour been?"

Before Harry had a chance to stop laughing at the two's ruse and to reply or greet them in term, Percy appeared in the doorway, a superior expression on his face as he observed the scene.

"Fred, we are in a hurry," their elder brother said, "Do try your best to cease your idiotic behaviour until we're on the Hogwart's Express, at least."

Both twins looked posed to reply, but as their mother glanced at them the fell silent, instead, both pulling away from Harry and towards where their trunks lay. Only a second passed, however, before Harry was joined by another red-headed individual.

"Hello, Harry," greeted Mr Weasley, managing to look both pleased to see him and stressed by his surroundings, "I do need to have a chat with you, I'm afraid, but the Ministry has sent cars to take us to the station, so we will have to wait to we get there."

"Yeah, why did they do that, Dad?" George asked as he attempted to stuff what looked suspiciously like an escaped frog back into his case.

"Perks of working for them, of course," Mr Weasley replied. Harry couldn't help but notice that Mr Weasley's ears had turned red, similar to how Ron's did when he was lying. "After that fiasco with the car last year, they were kind enough to realise that we might struggle to get us all to Kings Cross in time. Now, best not keep them waiting."

The procession began walking through the Leakey Cauldron, towards the exit, and pass the posters of the escaped convict, and it did not escape Harry's notice how Mr Weasley marched in front of him, while Mrs Weasley followed not a step behind.

They arrived at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters with not ten minutes to spare, a situation which was remarkably better than last year, but still far later than would have been a comfort, and many students appeared to have settled on the train.

"Hi, Harry!" Neville piped, a stern looking witch by his shoulder, who could no other than his infamous grandmother.

"Hi Neville," he replied his attention not on Neville but instead Mr Weasley, who had led him away from the rest of his family, and into a quieter part of the station. Once there, Mr Weasley turned to him and knelt down so he was at Harry's eye level.

"Harry," he began, "Before I tell you what I'm about to tell you, I need you to promise me not to do anything stupid."

Harry blinked, his heart beginning to beat faster, and hope began to fill it. Could it be possible, that Mr Weasley somehow knew the about his parentage? That he could either confirm or deny the thoughts that had filled his mind for weeks?

Mr Weasley continued, perhaps taking his silence as acceptance, the next words dimming Harry's excitement.

"Sirius Black, how much do you know about him?"

Confusion flooded his mind, as he tried to recall the information that he had heard throughout the past few weeks, mostly from times in which he had overheard other people's conversations. Perhaps, at another time he might have had more interest in the escaped convict, but his attention span throughout the past few weeks had more often been caught in the case of Captain America's missing son.

"He was one of Voldemort's", Mr Weasley shuddered, and Harry corrected his words, "I mean, You-Know-Who's supporters, right? His right-hand man?" Mr Weasley continued to stand blankly at him, so he stumbled on, unsure of what to say, "He-, um, escaped Azkaban? He was the first one ever to do it?"

Mr Weasley nodded, seeming to come to a conclusion before continuing, "Exactly, Harry, he was You-Know-Who's right-hand man, and he would probably do anything to get his hands on you, to get revenge."

"Yeah, that's pretty obvious," he said, noticing the way that Mr Weasley's face once again became blank. "I mean, he supported Voldemort, so I kind of figured he'd want me dead."

Something akin to both amusement and pain played on Mr Weasley's face at his reply, before the man continued.

"Harry, I need you to promise me, that no matter what you hear, you won't go looking for Black."

Whatever understanding he had found throughout the conversation disappeared at Mr Weasley's request, and briefly, he wondered how stupid Mr Weasley believed him to be.

"Mr Weasley, why on Earth would I go looking for someone who wants to kill me?"

Mr Weasley drew a breath, an expression of doubt on his face as he began to speak, but only to be interrupted by the sound of the train's whistle, and instead, he looked desperately at Harry.

"Harry, please, just promise me. Don't do anything stupid, don't go looking for Black."

"Mr Weasley-" the train whistled again, and Mr Weasley gave him a stern look, and instead of continuing to question Ron's father, he replied softly, "I promise."

Mr Weasley nodded, relief on his face. "Now you better get on the train. We wouldn't want a repeat of last year."

Harry nodded, yelling his goodbyes over his shoulder as he ran towards where Ron and Hermione waited with his chest and Dudley's backpack, which was now full of books.

"What did Dad want to talk to you about?" Ron asked as they stepped aboard the Hogwarts Express.

"I'll explain once were in private."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off down the train, dragging their trunks behind them in their search for a compartment. Soon, they felt the train beneath them begin to move, but it was only at the end of the train that they found compartment that was mostly empty.

The room had only one occupant, a man with greying hair who was asleep in the corner closest to the window, with a trunk, labelled 'Professor R. J. Lupin'.

"Come on, it's the only one left," said Hermione, as she led her way into the compartment.

"Wonder what he's teaching?" Ron questioned, as they settled into their seats, Harry pushing the backpack which held his research under his chair.

"That's obvious," Hermione whispered, her voice pointedly low. "There's only the one vacancy, after Lockhart, I mean. Surely he must be teaching Defence."

"Well, I hope he's got it in him," said Ron, doubtfully, ignoring Hermione's affronted glance "He looks like one good jinx would finish him off. Anyway, Harry, what was Dad talking to you about?"

Harry explained, quickly, about Mr Weasley's warnings about Sirius Black. When he was finished though, Ron looked thunderstruck, while Hermione was covering her mouth in shock.

"I didn't really think much of it," Harry said, trying to reassure his two friends. "I mean, it's not exactly the most exciting thing to happen to me recently. And surely there's always someone out there who would like to finish me off, especially considering..."

Harry trailed off, glancing at the sleeping professor, but while Hermione appeared to at least be partly reassured by his logic, Ron still looked concerned.

"Mate, I don't think you understand. This is Sirius Black we're talking about. Fred and George used to tell me stories about him when I was younger, they always used to give me nightmares."

"I don't think Black would be so stupid to try and finish me off while I'm at Hogwarts, Ron. I mean, I'd been in London for a month, and I can't exactly imagine him snooping around any corners."

Neither Ron or Hermione commented on the lack of logic in his claim, perhaps instead pausing to think about the suspicious looking convict trying to blend in with muggles as they watched the passing landscape, which was quickly turning from suburban blocks to the countryside.

"Harry, just promise you won't go looking for trouble," Hermione pleaded, eventually. "You're right, of course, there's probably always going to someone who wants to kill you, but Ron's right too. Black is worse than the average You-Know-Who follower. They obviously want to be free, otherwise, they would still be spouting his propaganda today. Black though, he's been in Azkaban, he didn't even try to defend himself when he was arrested. He's got nothing to lose."

"Despite what you and Mr Weasley might think, I don't go looking for trouble," Harry said, infuriated, "It usually just finds me."

Both Ron and Hermione rolled their eyes at his comment, but the compartment soon became filled with only the sound of the movement of the train, neither of his friends certain of how to respond. Fortunately, the silence was soon broken by the rattling of the food trolley going up the aisle, a sound that was soon followed by knocking on the compartment door.

"Anything off the trolleys, dears?"

Both Ron and Harry jumped upwards at the noise and began to choose their food with Hermione following only a second behind.

"Should we wake him up?" asked Hermione, eyeing the sleeping professor as the three paid for their food. "He does look like he could do with some food."

"Who are you, my mum?" Ron questioned, his mouth full of a pumpkin pasty. "He also looks like he could do with a sleep."

"I'll be up the front, dears," the trolley lady, "Just tell him he's welcome to come get some food once he wakes if he wishes."

The three nodded, and soon the trolley was continuing down the corridor.

"I swear," Ron said, "That woman never ages. Honestly, she's gotta be at least a hundred."

Hermione laughed, "That's not exactly uncommon, though, is it? I mean, Dumbledore's one hundred and twelve, I think. There's nothing particularly strange about her."

The hours soon passed, with games of Exploding Snap, which Hermione had charmed to be silent, and the tales of both Hermione's and Ron's tales abroad, in France and Egypt. Harry's holidays, and the search which he had undertaken were kept carefully silent, not willing to risk the chance of Professor Lupin's waking.

Soon, as the sun finished setting the train began to slow.

"Brilliant," said Ron, getting to his feet. "I was just beginning to get hungry."

"We shouldn't be there for nearly another hour," Hermione said, checking her watch.

"Then why are we stopping?" Ron replied, "Maybe they've made the train quicker, Hermione, they've been making advancements with muggle transport recently, I mean, just look at my dad's car."

Harry though, remained quiet, goose bumps beginning to form on his arms as a chill began to spread, and distantly, he thought he could hear a sound of deep wheezing. Harry barely had a chance to tell his two friends to be quiet so he could attempt to see if he was imaging the sound, before the lamps went out, plunging the train into darkness.

"Maybe we've broken down," Hermione said, her voice forcefully hopeful as the three begin to shiver.

"There's something moving out there," Ron said, from his point next to the window. "I think there are people coming aboard."

The compartment door swung open suddenly, and someone stumbled in, landing on Harry's legs.

"Sorry-, d'you guys know what's going on-?" Neville asked as he struggled onto the seat next to Harry.

"We have no idea," Harry replied, his teeth chattering, "Ron reckons there are people coming aboard."

"I'm going to go ask someone," Hermione stood, heading towards the door, but only stumbling into another figure. "Ginny? What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for Ron-"

"Well you've found me-" Ron began, only to be interrupted by a hoarse voice from the corner of the cabin.

"Be quiet," Lupin said, pulling his wand from his pocket as he stood, a gentle light filling the cabin as he lifted it. "Both of you, sit down."

The two girls fell into the seat behind them, Lupin taking a step towards the door, but before he reached the entrance a hooded figure slid into the entrance, illuminated by the light of Lupin's wand. The creature was large, almost filling the doorway, and it's face was covered it's hood.

The thing, whatever it was, stared directly at Harry, before beginning to draw a long, rattling breath, as though trying to draw more than simply air from it's surroundings.

The air became rapidly colder, as if the thing was taking what little warmth that was previously in the air away with it's breath, and Harry felt his eyes began to slide towards the back of his head as darkness took over.

Distantly, he could hear the sound of screaming, and he wanted to help whoever it was, trying to run towards the noise, but was unable to move. As quickly as the noise had come though, it was replaced by another sensation, this time of a cold, metal object, wrapping around him, lifting him from where he lay. Desperately, Harry tried to escape the hold, but he seemed unable to move, to escape it, and he soon instead began to scream, to cry, in both terror and discomfort.

The cold continued to overcome him, seeming to fill both his physical and mental being, only for him to hear the distant sound of yelling, and a light to began to shine, warming him; the sound of a woman's singing, the gentle rocking of being in someone's arms, and kind, loving, brown eyes staring down at him, filled his mind.

"Harry! Harry! Are you alright!"

Someone was slapping him, and with each noise and contact seemed to be dragging him away from the comfort which he barely remembered.

"Harry! Wake up!"

"W-what?"`

Harry opened his eyes, finding himself back aboard the Hogwarts Express, which was once again moving and lights filled the cabin. His friends, along with Professor Lupin, were all staring at him worriedly. He felt sick, and he continued to tremble as he attempted to steady himself, Hermione's hand on his shoulder, as he struggled to breath properly. His books, which had previously been in his bag under the seat, had been knocked out and were scattered across the ground.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, cautious as she spoke.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice shaking, "I'm fine. Where's that- that thing, gone? Who was-, who was screaming?"

Who was the woman who he remembered rocking him in her arms, he wondered desperately, his eyes catching on one of his books which had been strewn across the room, and a quiet sort of hope began to fill him.

"Nobody was screaming," Ron said, nervously, a silence following his words, which was soon broken by the sudden sound of a snap, which caused them all to jump, and stare towards where the sound had come from. Professor Lupin had broken a large block of chocolate and was offering it to them in his outstretched hand.

"Take it, it'll help," he said and smiled at them as they each took their piece. "That was a dementor. They guard the prison, Azkaban. They must have been searching the train for Black."

They all stared at him, unsure of how to respond as the man crumbled the empty chocolate wrapper in his hand.

"Eat," he repeated, as he stood, "I need to go talk to the driver, excuse me-"

He stumbled, tripping over one of Harry's books, but picked himself up before he fell. Instead, he reached down to pick up the book, and began to offer it to Harry, but instead froze, staring at the title.

"Professor," Hermione began, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes," Lupin began, speaking quickly as he once again offered the book to Harry, "Now, I really must be going to speak to the driver, so excuse me-"

The man disappeared down the train, leaving the five students staring confused after the man.

"What the hell was that about?" Ron asked, continuing to stare at the spot the man had disappeared.

Instead of answering, Harry stared at his book in his lap, on the cover of which a photo of Harrison Rogers was displayed before returning to stare after the man.

It appeared, Harry thought, his mind quickly becoming joyful and his grip beginning to tighten on his copy of 'Harrison Rogers: The Search For America's Lost Son', that perhaps returning to Hogwarts wouldn't put as much a pause on his search as he had once thought.

* * *

"Yes, it's possible that Professor Lupin knows something," Hermione said, as Ron, Harry, and she descended down the empty stairs leading towards Hagrid's cabin and their Care Of Magical Creatures class. Shockingly, Hermione had not taken well to the possibility that their newest professor was less than perfect. It was only through Ron's laughing about the last few Defence professors they had had that she had been able to even consider the possibility. "And I'll agree that his reaction is suspicious, but you just can't accuse him of time traveling back in time to kidnap you! You need proof first!"

"Hermione," Harry began, only to stumble down a few steps of stairs. His mind had been kept awake the previous night with thoughts about Lupin's reaction and with the images which the dementor had conjured in his mind, and was now struggling to stay awake. Along with the damp steps beneath him, it was not a good situation. "Firstly, I'm not saying he _time traveled_. Secondly, needing proof is what got us into this situation! We don't have any proof that I'm Harrison Rogers, and Lupin might have what we need!"

"You just can't accuse a Professor of kidnapping you, Harry! And how exactly do you plan to get the information? Are you just going to march up to him and ask, what do you know about Harrison Rogers?"

"I think, Hermione," Ron laughed, "That's what Harry was counting on you on, actually."

Hermione glanced at him, which caused him to smile sheepishly in return.

"You can't say that you haven't thought of anything," Ron continued. "It must have kept you up all night wondering."

"Yes, it did! And I have nothing!" Hermione sighed, "The only ideas I could come up with are absolutely insane!"

Both Ron and Harry looked at her eagerly, causing her to sigh, and roll her eyes.

"I thought perhaps, a truth serum," Ron began to laugh at the statement, "But it's illegal! Then I thought we could perhaps obliviate him after, but after last year, I really would prefer not to. Memory magic really is tricky, and I would be worried he would end up like Lockhart."

"What about your other idea?"

"Breaking into his office."

Silence fell, the three friends continuing along the path, desperately attempting to think of a plan.

"What about polyjuice?" Ron offered, "We could transform into someone, Dumbledore maybe, and demand answers?"

Doubt clouded Harry's mind at the offer, and from the way that Hermione glanced at him, he knew that the thought had occurred to her too.

"Ron, Dumbledore might already know. The glamours, they had to have been made by a really powerful wizard, probably one who's still alive today. If it was one of my par-, James and Lily, they would have fallen years ago. It was Dumbledore who gave me to the Dursley's, so he must have had some control over my life, he might have some idea about who my parents really were."

Ron nodded, his freckled face clearing of confusion.

"What if we just asked him?" Hermione eventually said, causing both Harry and Ron to stare at her in disbelief. "I mean, not directly, but we could start talking about Captain America, and Harrison Rogers, to him. If the incident on the train was anything to go off, the Professor isn't exactly subtle."

The idea, Harry admitted, wasn't exactly foolproof, but it was certainly the best they had come up with. Before either Ron or Harry had an opportunity to voice their opinion though, a shadow covered them, and the three friends looked up into the beaming face of Hagrid.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione," he said, grinning at Harry, "I heard you talkin about Professor Lupin? It must be good, o'course, to meet a friend of yeh parents?"

Harry blinked, shock overcoming him as he struggled to reply, Hagrid's grin dimming/

"He asn't told yeh then?" Hagrid said, his face sad.

Harry continued to struggle to find words, and instead Hermione answered Hagrid's question.

"No, we met him on the the Hogwart's Express though. He acted really strange around Harry, and we weren't really sure why."

Hagrid nodded, "I probably should't have told yeh all that then, but reckon it's bit late now. He was friend's with 'oth your parents, Harry, when they went 'ere. After, too. I suppose he was struggling a bit with how much you look like yer dad, Harry. It catches me by surprise at times."

As he said that, Hagrid began to look at Harry closely, prompting Hermione to shout her greeting at two approaching Gryffindors.

"Lavender! Parvati!" she yelled, drawing Hagrid's attention away from Harry and to the two approaching girls. "I didn't have a chance to ask you about your holidays!"

Though both girls gave Hermione a suspicious glare, Hagrid disappeared back into his hut, muttering something to the three friends about having something to prepare for his class. As he walked away though, the three friends looked at each other, the message clear on each other's faces.

* * *

Several days passed until Harry found himself facing Lupin again. Though the man looked as battered and tired as he had on the train, he no longer appeared to be wishing to flee upon spotting Harry, and instead smiled at him as he entered the classroom.

"Settle, settle," the man said as more of the class began to enter the room, murmuring excitedly upon spotting the cupboard which now sat at the front of the room. As the class fell silent, Lupin smiled, before continuing, "What can anyone tell me about boggarts?"

Hermione's hand flew into the air, accompanied, Harry noticed, by several others, along with nervous faces being traded between students.

"Boggarts are shape shifters," Hermione. "They take the shape of whatever scares us most."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," the teacher said, smiling at Hermione. "Boggarts like cold, dark places. This one, Mr Filch found yesterday afternoon, and I asked him to leave it so we could get some practice. Does anyone know what the natural form of a boggart is?"

"Nobody knows," Hermione answered after Lupin nodded at her. "Nobody's ever been able to see one without it transforming."

"Exactly," the man nodded, "so when I let him out, he will become what each of us fears most. Neville, do you see why we have such a large advantage over the boggart?"

Neville, who had been trembling, took several seconds to think before he cautiously answered.

"There's so many of us, and only one of it?"

"Precisely," the professor replied, Hermione's hand sinking in disappointment. "It's always best to have company when dealing with a boggart. The charm, however, to dispel a boggart is quite simple, but it requires force of mind. Repeat after me, please, riddikulus!"

The class repeated the spell after him, and he smiled again before continuing.

"Well now, for the difficult part. Neville, this is where I'll need your help. What is it, that you fear most in the world?"

Neville muttered something, but no identifiable sound was heard.

"Would you mind repeating that, please, Neville?"

"Professor Snape."

The class laughed, but the professor looked thoughtful, eventually leaning forward to whisper something in Neville's ears which caused his lips to twitch with laughter. Lupin took a step backwards, smiling reassuringly at Neville again, before returning his attention to the rest of the class.

"Once Neville finishes of the boggart, it will turn your attention on the rest of you. I would like you all to take a moment, to think about what scares you most in the world, and now, as impossible as it might sound, I want you to think about how you might make it comical."

The room went silent, as the students began to wonder.

What scares me most in the world, Harry wondered.

His first thought was Voldemort, one who was as powerful and bloodthirsty as the one from thirteen years ago. But as soon as he attempted to try and find a way to make the dark wizard amusing, other thoughts filled his mind. What about Uncle Vernon, or Aunt Petunia? They had belittled him from the day he was placed with the, and it had left more than physical marks. Or perhaps the cupboard under the stairs, which had been a prison for the years before he had come to Hogwarts. But even as he tried to find a way to make his childhood torments amusing, another thought filled his mind; a deep rattling breath, and the air around him became cold at the thought alone.

How in Merlin's name was he meant to make a dementor comical? Could he make it trip over, or make it pink? Make it so each time it breathed it spluttered glitter instead?

"Everyone ready?" Professor Lupin asked, a question to which no one replied to. "Okay, Neville, on the count of three. One, two, three-"

The cupboard door swung open, and soon the room was full of dress-wearing- Snapes, voiceless banshees and unraveling mummies. Before long, it was Ron's turn, and as a familiar gigantic spider appeared in the room, Harry could feel Ron's trembling next to him.

"Ridikulus!"

The spider's legs disappeared, and it rolled toward's Harry's feet. He distantly heard Lupin's shout of 'here!', but as Harry lifted his wand there was a loud crack, and suddenly there was another figure in front of him.

A man stood in front of him, his face covered by both his long hair and a mask, which covered the lower half of his face. His blue eyes, surrounded by a dark paint, were staring directly at Harry, somehow managing to convey both a perfect stillness and turmoil. Across his back was strapped a large gun, and at his side, more knives. One of his arms, even more strangely, was made of metal.

Involuntarily, Harry felt himself take a step back.

"Harry," Ron muttered, from behind him, "Ridikulus."

Who was this man? Harry wondered, his mind racing, but each time he tried to look at his face, his eyes were instead drawn to the arm. Metal, he thought distantly, a metal arm, something which reminded him strangely of the nightmare which had been occurring his sleep in the nights since the dementor. A metal arm, tearing him away from the comfort of his bed and from the people who loved him.

"Ridikulus, Harry," Hermione muttered, the entire class transfixed at the man drew one of his many knives. "Ridiku-"

"RIDIKULUS!" Harry shouted, and the man's appearance shifted. Suddenly, the boggart was portraying a different man, once which Harry again felt like he should know, but who's face he couldn't place.

"Neville! Forward, finish it off for us!" Professor Lupin yelled, breaking the silence.

Neville rushed forward, his face gleeful as the boggart turned once again into Snape, and yelled 'ridikulus!' as the boggart exploded into smoke, before disappearing. Harry remained, staring at the spot where a man had stood only seconds before.

"Excellent! For homework, please read the chapter on boggarts for homework, and summarize it for me. That will be all."

The majority of the Gryffindors all started towards the door, leaving Harry and his two friends, one of who remained to stare at the empty space, while the other two stared concerned at him. After the class room had emptied, Ron voiced the words which had been on of their minds.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

* * *

"Dementors can make some of your worst memories resurface," Hermione spoke, giving Ron a partially a disgusted look as he sat beside her, eating his dinner. "You say you remember the metal arm picking you up?"

Harry nodded, and her eyebrows drew down in thought.

"If he was the one to kidnap you, it would make sense. He would have been a very imposing figure, and if he was the one to kidnap you, it very well could mean that your unconscious mind retained memories of him. Did you remember anything else?"

"I remember a woman, screaming." Harry replied, his voice kept carefully free of emotion.. "And a woman, holding me in her arms, and singing to me. But that felt warm, it was happy."

"Lily Potter?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head, "No, she had brown eyes."

The thought seemed to pass over both his friends as it had over Harry: brown eyes, like Peggy Rogers. Hermione sighed, hopelessness covering her face, "We really need to find some proof that you're Harrison."

Their eyes all moved to the table at which Professor Lupin was sat, eating, and smiling at Madame Pomfrey. A second later, his eyes moved to them, causing them to all jump and turn back to their food.

"You seem more certain about it then you were, earlier, Hermione," Harry stated eventually, staring at his friend.

She stared back, her face black, before once again sighing. "Your boggart, Harry, didn't you notice? The metal arm, it had a Soviet Star on it. If he really was the one to kidnap you, Harry, I would almost be considering it proof enough."

"I am continuously amazed at you, Hermione," Ron said, "I was a bit busy looking at all the knives to really notice any stars."

A short laugh was startled out of Hermione at the comment.

"But the thing is, Hermione," Harry eventually said, voicing the thought which had been plaguing him for weeks, "Even if we do find proof, how the hell am I going to convince my-, Peggy Carter. Surely she must have people claiming their Harrison Rogers all the time."

"There are ways, using DNA - muggle technology, Ron - to see if people truly are related. Anyway," Hermione said, casting Harry an amused glance, "I somehow doubt she has many thirteen year olds claiming to be her son these days. That should probably help her listen to you."

* * *

Despite their efforts to find another way to discover if Lupin knew the truth of Harry's parentage, the three friend's enthusiasm quickly began to dim as the days passed. At nearly a three weeks from their departure from King's Cross Station, the friends had been left with the only plan they could create, one which had Hermione pacing.

"It's not going to work," she cried, as Ron and Harry watched her with both private amusement and agreement at her words, "It's idiotic, it relies too much on chance, and we could get into _so_ much trouble!"

"We could give it more time, see if we can come up with a better plan?" Harry offered, amusement in his voice, hiding the fact that if there was one thing that they could do that he didn't want, it was to give it more time. Hermione let out a strangled yell at his suggestion, as she ceased pacing to stare at where he and Ron sat.

"No, it's the best we have," Hermione decided, though her face was pinched at her admittance. "If we want to discover the truth, we need to do it soon if we want to startle Lupin. He might grow accustomed to you Harry, at the moment he is still doing the best to avoid you. We should use it to our advantage, while we still can."

Harry and Ron both nodded at her in reply, the comment echoing what she had been debating with herself for the previous ten minutes. This time though, it seemed she had finished her pacing, and instead she sunk into the chair which sat behind her.

"It might not be the best plan, but it's the best, the only one, we have," she admitted, her voice soft.

Harry nodded, partly full of relief, but more so of dread, as he stood, taking Hermione's place.

"Tomorrow, during lunch, Hermione, you will approach Professor Lupin and ask for a chance to defeat a boggart, as you missed out on it during the lesson. Ron will follow you, and while Lupin is distracted, Ron, you will sneak a potion into Lupin's drink, which will make him more willing to answer questions."

The potion, a responsum verum, was capable of making the drinker more willing to answer questions, and unlike veritaserum, it wasn't illegal. However, unlike the other potion, it had far lesser effect on the drinker, and if Lupin truly didn't want to reveal the answers, it would not be possible to force him. However, combined with Lupin's lack of proper composure when around Harry, they had hope that their plan might work. The potion itself had been brewed the previous by Fred and George, who had demanded in repayment samples of the three friend's hair. Harry wasn't certain he wanted to know what the twin's were planning to do with it, and despite their reassurances that it was nothing dangerous, he doubted it would do either of the friend's any good. However, he would give up every hair on his own head if he thought that it might reunite him with his family.

"When he leaves I will follow him out, and ask for answers," Harry finished, simplifying the part of the plan which could very well be the most troubling.

"And, hopefully," Hermione said, finishing for him what he could not say, "By tomorrow night we will know if you are really Harrison Rogers."

* * *

The plan, at least, did not seem to be off to a bad start, Harry thought, as he watched his two friends talk to the professor, from his spot at the Gryffindor table.

Though Lupin had first appeared nervous to see the two third-years approaching, as Hermione had begun a conversation, he had begun to relax, and now appeared almost amused at Hermione's request. All to soon, it seemed to Harry, they were walking back towards him, a nervous expression plastered over Hermione's face, while Ron wore one of triumph. Behind them, Harry could see Lupin finishing what was left of his drink.

As his two friends sat down beside him, they all remained silent, instead, they took turns to glance at where Lupin sat. Harry was beginning to wonder if Fred and George's attempt at the potion hadn't worked entirely, and instead, it had left Lupin not wanting to move, when Hermione elbowed him in the stomached. He let out a yelp in response, but his reply was silence by the sight of Lupin walking towards the entrance of the Great Hall.

"Good luck, Harry," Hermione offered as he stood.

"If we don't see you in a few hours, mate," Ron said, "We'll send the twins after you."

Harry caught up to Lupin a few corridors from the man's classroom, and remained silent, following shortly behind him as they walked. As they reached the door, Harry let out a yell of, 'Professor!'.

"Harry," said the man as he turned to face him, tense. "What can I do for you?"

"Sorry-, sir, Hagrid-, Professor Hagrid, I mean-, he told me that you were friends with my parents." Harry began, stumbling over his words. "I was just wondering-, if you could tell me anything about them?"

Lupin stared at him for several, long sentences, before they man sighed. "I would love to tell you about your parents, Harry."

Soon, the two were seated at Lupin's desk, the man staring at him as Harry struggled again to find his words.

"Chocolate?" the man offered, pulling it from one of his draws.

"Uh-, no thanks," Harry replied. "Professor, what were my parents like?"

"They were brave," Lupin said, after considering him again, for several seconds. "They both fought for what the believed in, with every ounce of their being. They loved either other with everything they had, and you too, of course."

Harry was left temporarily stunned at the words, unsure of what he had been expecting, but the words rang with an honesty which had not been it. Though, Harry supposed, the potion would likely be taking effect.

"Professor," Harry eventually began, "Did they ever say anything about me being adopted?"

The words seemed to sap the man of what little energy he had, letting out a sigh as he sunk into the chair. Silence followed the sigh, one which was eventually broken as Lupin looked again into Harry's eyes.

"You should know, Harry, that despite their original intentions, they did truly care for you."

His heart began to beat faster at the words, hope beginning to swallow him.

"Do you know who my biological parents were, professor?"

The man looked at him again, with that deeply insightful stare, before replying.

"I think you already know the answer to that, Harry," Lupin said.

Harry froze at the words, both elation and doubt coursing through his body at.

"I am him, aren't I? Harrison Rogers, I mean."

The man nodded at him, and Harry too sank into his chair at the confirmation.

As impossible as it seemed, _it was true_ , Harry thought, the words repeating in his mind as conflict began to war.

Seconds trickled by in which Harry said nothing, too enthralled with the knowledge to even think of it, before Lupin began to speak again.

"I'm afraid, Harry, I should probably say that your plan with Mr Weasley and Ms Granger didn't work," the man said, "You're friend was not nearly as subtle as he needed to be, but if you wanted to know the truth, you only needed to ask. James and Lily-, they never planned to keep it a secret from you who you were."

The professor's words had regained Harry's attention, the mention of the Potter's bringing a question to mind he wasn't sure he wanted to consider.

"How did I end up with James and Lily?"

The man lowered his eyes, shame on his face. "Lily's father, he came to England from America, looking for you. When he and his wife was murdered, by Death Eaters, Lily found all of his research on the matter, and with the use of magic, she was able to find you. James, he was also injured in the attack, and Lily wasn't in the best state of mind when she and I broke into the place where you were being kept."

"We wanted a weapon," Lupin paused, returning to eyes to Harry's face before continuing. "One that could give us an advantage over Voldemort."

Harry froze, the impossibility of the statement shocking him.

"You-, you stole-, you kidnapped me from my kidnappers because you wanted a weapon!" Harry asked, incredulous.

Lupin shook his head, shamefaced. "We were expecting an assassin, not a baby. We knew what we were doing was wrong, Harry, but we were desperate."

"Why didn't you give me back to my mum then!" Harry yelled, anger painting his words, the thought of a woman, his mother, left wondering his whereabouts for almost the last sixty years, inciting his rage.

What right had they? Harry thought, to not return him to his mum, to keep him from his family. The word family stunned Harry temporarily, and the thought of a life that could have been, one free of the Dursley's filled his mind. Would he have been happy, or would the pressure of growing up with the knowledge of having Captain America as a father have been too much to bear?

"Harry, Lily and I had a theory," Lupin eventually began, stunning Harry from his thoughts "It was common knowledge that you didn't inherit the strength of the super soldier serum, but we thought, we hoped, it might have affected your magical core instead."

"Well, obviously it didn't!" Harry yelled. His magic was mediocre at best, the only extraordinary thing he had ever done was-

"You survived the killing curse, didn't you?"

Harry fell silent, any response he might have had thrown by the words. As the silence continued, Lupin's face continued to fall, guilt painting it.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I know it might not mean much, and it does nothing to help you, but I truly am. And Lily and James, despite their-, Lily's intention, they did truly love you like their son."

The words passed through Harry's mind, unsure of his reaction should be to yell, or to cry. How could Lupin, who had left him to suffer at the hand's of the Dursley's for years, when he had known that he had living family, dare to apologise to him? What right had the Potters to have considered him their son?

"The people who kidnapped me-, I mean, before you," Lupin winced at his words, but Harry continued, his thoughts returning to the strangely familiar boggart which had haunted his dreams. "Who were they?"

Lupin's face shifted, "I can't remember, exactly. Your mum-, Lily, I mean, she knew who they were. They were named after a creature from Greek myths-, I think it was one Heracles killed. Captain America-, your father, I mean, Lily mentioned that he fought against them."

Harry froze, shock overcoming the facade of calmness which he had entered. It wasn't possible, was it?

"Hydra," an emptiness to his voice, as if it had been void of all emotion.

He barely heard Lupin's agreement, a tidal wave of hopelessness coursing through him. The organisation which his father had died attempting to stop had survived, the entire world unaware of it.

"Harry? Are you alright?" Lupin asked, stirring him from his thoughts, to reality, where the man was now standing, watching him concerned.

"I'm going to go find my mum."

Lupin remained quiet, no argument against Harry's words, allowing the next words to ring silently through his head.

 _I'm going home._

 **Guess what isn't being posted almost a year later. This!**

 **Title from Radical Face's 'Welcome Home' (are you guys starting to spot a trend here)**

 **If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask, and if you could please leave a review, I would be so incredibly grateful.**

 **Thank you!**


	5. Mother Mother I Can Feel Your Heartbreak

**Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Either Harry Potter or The Marvel Cinematic Universe**

 **Excuse Me, I Don't Suppose You Know How To Time Travel**

 **Chapter Five: Mother Mother, I Can Feel Your Heartbreak**

1993: Hogwarts School, Scotland

A restless sleep followed Lupin's confirmation of Harry's parentage, thoughts plaguing him as he lay in his bed in Gryffindor dormitory. Whenever it seemed that the night might claim him, thoughts reawakened him; of his father, who's remains rested on the bottom of the ocean, of his mother, who with every passing day might be closer to joining his father, and the ploy which had kept him from her in the first place.

Despite his hope that the truth would put his mind at rest, it had only proved to do the opposite, leaving him instead with questions that there were no real answers to. Lily and Lupin, when they had taken him from the people who had held him for almost forty years, might have spared him a fate in which he never knew any kindness. But they had counted on that, on his being a monster, and yet still kept him when they discovered the baby instead. If not for the actions of Lily and Lupin, if they instead had returned him to his mother, he would have grown knowing the feeling of a mother's comfort, but instead, throughout his childhood he had grown familiar with the feelings of hunger clawing his stomach and hands snapping against his face.

Ron and Hermione had both been horrified to hear the reason why he hadn't been returned to Peggy Carter, and though Lupin had agreed to help him reach her, they had seemed equally surprised to discover that he planned to travel to her the following day. The two's shocked protests had eventually ceased though, as they seemed to realise how desperate he was to meet with his mum.

"How are you going to convince her?" Ron had asked, and despite his earlier dismissal of the question, now, the words quickly joined the calamity which was his within mind.

The easiest answer to the question-, and perhaps the hardest, was that he didn't know. Despite the trouble that they had gone through to find proof for themselves that his mother was indeed Peggy Carter, the three friends had little evidence to present to the woman. And though Hermione had half-heartedly suggested continuing the search, it was one which she must have known it was one that Harry wasn't going to consider.

His only offer to give to Peggy Carter was the simple truth.

His only hope was that, somehow, it would be enough to convince her.

* * *

When he woke, the windows were covered in frost and the air crisp with cold. He dressed quickly, taking note of Ron's empty bed, as he began to empty his backpack of the books on his family, and instead placing it the necessary items for the journey. He hesitated for a second before grabbing the plastic soldier from his bedside table, clasping it in his hand. He spared one last glance at the room, before descending the stairs towards the common room.

Both Ron and Hermione were waiting for him besides the fire, their faces both equally anxious as they saw him approach. Before Harry could begin to speak, to reassure them though, Hermione threw her hands around him, pulling the boy into her embrace.

"Harry, you have to promise be careful," Hermione said, as she released him.

"Of course I will be He-"

"No, Harry, I mean it. The people who kidnapped you, there's every chance they might be watching her house, in case you try to meet her."

The thought of HYDRA watching his mum had not occurred to him, and now, it made him frown.

"I'll keep an eye out, Hermione," he offered, "And even if they are, they won't be expecting me to have magic, will they? I'll be fine."

Hermione nodded reluctantly in return, though some of the apprehension that had been on both of his friend's faces had ceased slightly.

"You must be pretty excited, then?" Ron eventually asked. Harry grinned in reply, rolling the plastic soldier between his fingers.

"That's definitely one word for it, yeah."

"And you'll be back tonight?" Hermione questioned, her voice doubtful.

"I'll be back tonight Hermione," Harry reassured his friend. "I'm going to explain everything, I mean everything, to her. Hopefully, if she believes me, Lupin's going to explain everything to Dumbledore. He's going to try and convince him to let me stay with her on the weekends, and over the holidays."

The words, 'It's the least he could do after keeping me from her for the last twelve years' were left unsaid, but his two friends clearly understood what he had almost said. Lupin, despite all that he had done against Harry, leaving him to suffer at needlessly at the hands of the Dursleys, at least he seemed to be doing his best to make up for it.

"You could tell him now though, Harry. He could go with you to tell her, and surely no one would be able to get to you with the Headmaster being there."

Something akin to both guilt and embarrassment showed on Harry's face, as he once again tossed the soldier between his fingers.

"I just, Hermione, I really want to do this myself. We've got this far, and I just want to be able to meet her without..."

He trailed off, the words sticking in the air though both doubt and understanding painted his friend's faced.

Finally, Ron offered the words which spurred Harry forwards. "Best of luck then, mate."

Besides him, Hermione too offered him luck, and Harry grinned at the two as he removed his glamours. He began to walk to the exit, but turned at the last minute to give his two friends a last reassuring smile.

"Well, see you two later then!"

Lupin was waiting for him in the entrance hall, his face appearing almost relieved as Harry appeared, before shifting to something which was much more unreadable. The two remained silent as the doors swung open, and the two began to walk the path towards Hogsmeade. Occasionally, Harry thought he saw a dark shape in the distance, perhaps a dementor, but it never came any closer.

"Don't worry, Harry," Lupin eventually said, as he saw the boy jump again at the distant figure, "They know I'm a professor. They won't come any closer while I'm with you."

Harry couldn't find it within himself to offer the man any form of thanks and instead turned his gaze towards the ground, pretending he didn't see the way that Lupin's face twisted as if he were in physical pain.

It was shortly after they had exited through the Hogwarts gates that Lupin came to a stop beside the side of the road, pulling his wand from his pocket.

"What are we doing?" Harry asked, hastily muttering, 'Sir.'

The man's gaze turned to him from where he had been watching the road.

"I was under the impression that you didn't want me to join you."

"No, not really," Harry said, privately thinking, _not at all_.

"Well then," the man continued, a sad smile on his face. "I suggest you get off the road."

Barely seconds after the professor had uttered the words, the man was pulling him out of the way of large, speeding, purple bus, the words 'The Knight Bus' inscribed with gold along it's side. Before Harry could ask what in Merlin's name was going on though, a man in a purple suit jumped from the bus.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus. My name's Stan Shunpike, and I'll be your conductor today. Two tickets, I assum'?"

"No, just the one today," Lupin said, "The boy's mother's quite sick. She lives near Winchester."

Stan Shunpike nodded in reply, switching his gaze to Harry and offering him what was probably meant to be a comforting smile. "And where in Winchester would 'at be?"

Harry hesitated, he knew the vague area of which his mother lived, but of the address, he had no idea. Before he had the opportunity to offer what he knew though, Remus was speaking again, telling the conductor an address.

"That'll be 18 sickles, then," Stan said, prompting Harry to began rummaging through his bag. Quickly though, he felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced towards Lupin, who was shaking his head at him as he passed the conductor the money.

"I have money," he protested, even as Stan began to count it.

"Harry, please," Lupin pleaded, "Just let me do this."

He turned to face the man, and for the first time since discovering the truth, he felt stirrings of pity for the man besides him. From what he could understand, Lupin had lost all his friends the night the Potters had died, protecting a child that wasn't even their own. As strange as it was, in a way, Harry was the only thing they had left in the world. Eventually, Harry nodded and took his step onto the bus.

"Best be going then, Harry," Lupin said, as he took a step back away from the bus. "I wish you and your mum luck, then. I'll be seeing you tonight."

The bus began to move again before Harry even had the chance to sit down.

* * *

1993: Winchester, England

As the bus sped along, Harry quickly became unsure if he felt sick due to the movement of the bus itself, or if it was the impending meeting with his mother. Finally, it seemed, Shunpike was approaching him, a grin appearing on his face as he took in nausea on Harry's.

"You'll be getting off at the next stop 'en," the conductor said, prompting Harry to stand, bracing himself against the chair, as the bus began to slow.

They had stopped in front a small house, with a well-pruned garden. Harry froze, images of a life that could have been flitting through his head.

"Aren't you gettin' of 'en?" Shunpike asked, nodding again at the house.

"Yes, yes, of course," Harry stuttered, abruptly thrown from his thoughts as he began walking towards the exit of his bus. He stumbled, almost landing upon an elderly witch who glared at him, ignoring his words of, 'Sorry-, sorry."

As soon as his feet were on the ground, the bus was gone again, leaving Harry in an empty street. He glanced at the house again, before turning his gaze to the other houses that dotted the road. They were few of them, and all varying in size and colours. Basically, everything that Privet Drive was not.

Hopefully, he thought, as he glanced at the other houses, hoping for something familiar to appear, the Knight Bus had dropped him directly at the right house, and not just the street. He began to walk up the path towards the house, offering a polite smile at one of the neighbours who was watching him from behind their curtains. The man returned it, before closing the curtains and disappearing from view.

Upon reaching the front door, he paused for several seconds, trying to regain the control of his breath, which he had been struggling with since he had first stepped on the Knight Bus. Eventually, cautiously, Harry raised his hand, knocking upon the door.

Perhaps she wasn't home, Harry wondered, as no noise was made in reply. Or maybe, she was sleeping in, as the house remained silent. It was still quite early in the morning, after all, and Peggy Carter was not as young as she had once been. Before Harry could continue this line of thought though, the door swung open, revealing the aged face of Peggy Carter, and knocking all the air from Harry's chest.

Within photographs, the resemblance between Peggy Carter, himself, and the woman from his dreams was suspicious. When face to face, however, the resemblance was undeniable. As Harry continued to stare at the woman in shock though, her face went through a series of emotions, from confusion to shock, to anger and suspicion. Eventually, the woman managed to school her face back into one which could be considered polite, before asking a question.

"Are you here to sell me biscuits?" she asked, ignoring Harry's confused reply in favour of muttering, "Of course not, this isn't America. One of the few things I miss, really."

"Sorry?" Harry replied, unsure of how to approach the conversation.

The woman's eyes returned to him, sad, but nevertheless, fierce.

"What's your name?"

"Harry," he replied, watching the way the woman breathed in before, anger crossing her face again before she responded, her voice carefully controlled.

"I suppose you have proof?"

"Uh, no. Not really."

One of her eyebrows went up at the reply, before she stepped aside, holding the door open for him. Confused, he stood for several seconds, staring at her, before she gestured into the house.

"Well, you best come in then."

Harry took a few steps forward, allowing the door to close behind him as Peggy Carter's hands each came up to grip his shoulders, staring intently at his face.

"You're certainly younger than the rest of them."

"I was frozen in time," he offered, causing the other eyebrow to go up.

"What about a time machine?" she replied, sarcasm clear in her voice.

"No, that'd just be ridiculous."

The woman's mouth twitched at the comment, but before Harry could possibly wonder at the movement, one of her hands was grabbing his arm, and twisting him around, shoving his face into the wall. Despite Harry's protests, with her other hand, she grabbed his left arm, pulling it backwards, shoving the sleeve upwards. Several seconds passed before her breath hitched, and she twisted him back around to face her, staring intently at his face. Now, there was a desperate sort of hunger in her eyes, along with an emotion which before had been kept carefully absent: hope.

Eventually, she seemed to find whatever she needed to, releasing his shoulders, gesturing down the hallway, towards the kitchen. The walls of the hallway were decorated with photos, of him as a child, people he didn't recognise, and his father. He paused as he stared at several of them; they almost looked familiar, as if he should know them, and others, like that of his father, he simply wished to have a chance to look at. Once at the end of the hall, Peggy Carter gave him an unimpressed look, before gesturing him to sit with her hand.

"Tea?"

"Um, no thanks," he responded, pushing his bag beneath the table.

Her lips twitched again as she stared at him, heating the water as she did so.

Harry remained frozen in his seat. He wasn't certain what to make of this greeting, or of his mother's eyes, which never seemed to leave him, though they were full of both pain, and, possibly, hope. As the seconds passed by, the woman eventually turned to the kettle, pouring the boiling water from it into two different cups, placing one in front of him before taking the seat across from him.

"I assure you, I have not poisoned it."

She took a sip from her tea, staring intently again at him as he wrapped his hands around the warmth of the cup, eventually raising it to sip. At the gesture, some of the tension left his mother's body, as she began to speak again.

"I have had many people claim to be my son, and yours is without a doubt one of the most ridiculous cases I have heard," her lips twitched slightly, "Despite what you might say, a time travelling machine could very well be more realistic."

"I haven't even told you yet," he protested weakly, ignoring the raised eyebrow sent his way. How, he wondered, did this woman manage to make him feel like a misbehaving child, despite that fact the last time he had seen her he had been a baby.

"You would be willing to have a DNA test, I assume?"

He nodded in reply, which seemed to offer the woman little comfort as she took another sip from her tea.

"If all your hope lies within the results of the test, it will do little to convince me," Peggy Carter informed, staring intently at him. "Those things could be tampered with so very easily. So, _Harry_ , tell me."

She gestured with her hand at the last word, a gesture which clearly meant 'go on', and Harry almost laughed at the gesture, one which he himself had done many times before.

"I found out that I was adopted a year ago," Harry began, before hesitating. Magic, though it might play a vital part in the story, would undoubtedly either make it far more unrealistic if she did not know of it, or if she did, possibly make his face not seem quite true. He continued moments later, coming to a decision. "My parents, my adopted ones, I mean, they died when I was little, and I was given to my adoptive mother's sister. She knew the truth but didn't mean to tell me until I was older, but when I began to suspect it, she told me."

"My adoptive mother, she was Lily Evans," he stumbled on, noting the way that his mother froze. "Dum Dum Dugan's daughter?" he offered.

"I know who Lily Evans is," she stated, "That information, however, is not common knowledge. And the woman who raised you, she was..."

"Aunt Petunia. I grew up thinking Dum Dum Dugan was my grandfather."

Another flash of emotion flew across the woman's face at his words, and she tightened her grip on the teacup.

"I knew Petunia and Lily when they were younger. Why didn't Petunia come along with you?"

"We don't particularly get along," he responded, ignoring the way that his mother's eyes narrowed at the words. "She blamed me, I think, because her father spent part of her childhood looking for me. "

Peggy nodded, her face slightly pinched.

"I didn't know that Harrison Rogers even existed until a few months ago," Harry eventually said, grasping at what to say. "Petunia, she said she didn't understand why Lily would have named her son after me. The next day, I went to the library, and found all the information I could on Harry Rogers. When I went home, Petunia told me the truth."

 _Before throwing me out,_ were the words he didn't say.

"Lily Evans," he continued, "She stole her father's journals after his death, and found me. I don't know where the journalis now. Professor Lupin, he's a teacher at my school. He was friends with Lily, and helped her find me. He's willing to talk to you, if you'll let him."

The woman remained silent, sipping her tea as she watched him twitch awkwardly, before she eventually seemed to come to a conclusion, placing her tea on the table.

"Your claims are easy enough to prove," his mother stood as she spoke, watching him as he again froze. "But if what you say is true, if you really are Harry, why weren't you returned to me."

"Lily Evans," he hesitated again; the words still brought him pain, and when said, they only seemed to make the cruel truth more real. "When her parents were murdered, she came after me because she thought the people who took me might have trained me as an assassin. She was going to send me after the people who killed her parents. When she found me though, I don't know why she didn't give me back."

His mother stared at him, her hand clenched around the teacup before she forcefully slammed it onto the table, the tea drenching the cloth it sat on. Harry jumped, and his mother's angry eyes met his own, as she forced her face into one of calmness. Finally, she began to speak again.

"You look like-"

Before Harry had a chance to hear who he looked like though, a knock resounded from down the hall: someone was knocking on the door. Both Harry and his mother froze, staring in the direction. His mother's eyes moved back towards him as she took a step towards the kitchen cabinet; he wasn't certain if her gaze was one of suspicion, or one of protectiveness.

The door swung open, and a cautious voice called into the house.

"Peggy? I hope you don't mind, there was a boy on your doorstep earlier, I just wanted to make sure you were okay," a male voice explained. There was a pause, where neither mother or son moved, before the man spoke again. "I also brought you some eggs, the chooks have been laying a lot recently. I can't eat enough to keep up with them."

Harry glanced at his mother again; her posture was no longer as tense, though her voice was tight as she called back.

"I'm quite alright, Simon. And of course I don't mind, you can never have enough eggs."

There was a laughter from the other end of the hall, and the sound of footsteps followed. A man stepped into the kitchen; the neighbour who had been watching Harry before, greeting Harry and Peggy with a smile.

"Simon, this is my nephew Anthony. He's going to be staying with me for a while."

"I suppose I should bring over some more eggs. Teenage boys, the way they eat," the man laughed as he placed the carton on the table. He glanced at Harry, then at Peggy, another smile upon his face, before he continued to speak, his voice lower than before. "You can definitely see the family resembla-"

Midsentence, the man pulled a gun from underneath his jacket, and his mother was shouting 'DUCK' as she slammed into the kitchen cabinet, pulling her own gun from one of the drawers. He took his mother's advice, leaping towards the table, and towards the bag which held his wand, but for the second time that day, felt his arm being grabbed, and for the first time, a gun pressed against his temple.

The man pulled Harry towards him, placing him between himself and his mother, whose gun shook in her hands despite the stillness of her face. Harry himself was breathing harshly, a light feeling had entered his chest, like a balloon which had begun to grow.

"I wouldn't do that, Ms Carter, you wouldn't want me to accidentally slip, would you?"

Her eyes met Harry's, and slowly she lowered the gun.

"Drop it."

The gun clattered to the ground, but the man used his own gun to gesture, taking care to hit the side of Harry's with it, before Peggy kicked the gun further away.

"Good," the man said. "Now, Ms Carter, unfortunately, though as wonderful a neighbour you may have been, I can't allow you to survive."

The words echoed through Harry; several seconds passing in which there was no sound and no movement except the sound of Harry's breathing, and the widening of Peggy's eyes. Then, there was an explosion, that came from within Harry, the man rocketing backwards, hitting one of the walls as Harry fell forwards.

A loud shot echoed through the room, the bullet missing Harry by only inches as the man aimed at him. The sound was followed quickly by another one in succession, and the gun fell out of the man's hand, his breathing growing deeper as red spread across his shoulder.

The man spluttered, stumbling his words, muttering something which sounded like 'head', seconds before Peggy marched over to him, her gun in hand. She swung it towards him, hitting him across his head, and the man collapsed.

"Is he dead?" Harry asked after a minute passed, his voice shaky.

Peggy glanced towards him, almost seeming shocked to see that he was still there. "No, he will wake in a few hours. SHIELD will want to question him."

Silence spread through the room; neither mother or son certain of what to say. Eventually, Peggy turned, kneeling beside him and cupping his face in her hands.

"You're a wizard," she said, staring at him with uncertain eyes. A second later, in which Harry's heart began to beat in panic at the words, her eyes closed, and pain became clear on her face. "You are my son. You're my Harry."

Her arms embraced him, pulling him towards her, her hair tickling his nose. She drew away from him, watching him closely for a second before beginning to speak.

"Are you injured?"

He shook his head in reply, his words having left him.

She continued, "Are you alright?"

When he nodded this time, it did not seem as true. He was alright; he finally had the family he had wished for as long as he could remember, but a man lay unconscious only a few feet away, after trying to kill both him and his mother.

Understanding covered his mother's face, as she tugged him back into her embrace.

Eventually, though, she pulled him to his feet, pressing her lips against his forehead. She took his arm, leading him away from the body and through the hallway so he was sat on a couch, his mother once again sitting across from him. She wiped her eyes, before returning her gaze to him, offering him a smile.

"You look like Micheal," she said, her voice cracking. "There's been so many boys who've claimed they were my son, and they always looked like Steve. You though, you look like Steve of course, but you also look my brother. Of course," she laughed slightly, "I suppose that means you look like me."

"SHIELD-, I'll explain who they are later. they will want to conduct a DNA test. They should be on their way now, I called them when I saw you on my doorstep. I knew, well, I suspected, that you were my son before you explained everything. You have a scar on your arm. My son, he had the same one. He had too many blood tests when he was born," she explained, "To make sure the serum had no negative effects."

"Your neighbour, Simon," Harry began, but was uncertain of how to continue.

"He's been my neighbour for years. He always has seemed quite invested in my life. To be honest, I was rather under the impression he fancied me. I should have realised something."

"Do you think he worked for the people who took me?"

His mother's eyes flew back towards him at the words, "Do you know who they were?"

Silently, Harry cursed himself for not mentioning it earlier. "It was HYDRA."

His mother's eyes widened at the words, and suddenly she was once again pulling Harry to his feet.

"Mrs Rogers-, Ms Carter- Peggy," Harry stumbled over the names, uncertain of what to call her, as she dragged him through the house, towards the front door, "Mum-"

His mother turned to stare at him at the word, "If it really was HYRDA, if Simon worked for them, there will be more. Cut off one head, another one will take its place. We need to get out of here, I'm not risking you-, not again."

Harry protested, "I can fight-, we can't just leave."

She paused at his words, before shaking her head. "Your wand, is it in your bag?"

Harry jumped slightly at the reminder, "Yeah, it is. I'll go get i-"

His mother shook her head suddenly as she started her way towards the kitchen, "No. Wait here, I'll go get it."

She returned seconds later, his bag in her hands as she led him towards her car.

"I can fight," he protested again, pulling his wand from his bag as she pushed him towards the passenger seat.

His mother pressed the keys into the ignition, ignoring his continued protests.

"I can look after myself, we can't just run. Not after what they did to..."

Harry trailed off, even less sure of what to refer to Captain America as than he was of Peggy Carter. It didn't seem to matter though, his mother understood, and she had turned to him, her eyes wide with both grief and laughter, before burrowing her head into her hands.

"He was right," she mumbled, laughter clear in her voice, "Any child of ours was doomed."

She lowered her hands, turning her eyes back to face him.

"Steve didn't die to defeat HYDRA, he died to save lives, and to give you a chance to grow in a happy, peaceful life. It might not have worked out like he hoped, but that doesn't change anything," she paused, taking a breath, her voice cracking, "Your father would not want to you to die, especially not trying to avenge him."

Harry's protesting fell silent, and his mother nodded at him, relief clear on her face before she began to back the car out the driveway.

"How will SHIELD find us?" he eventually asked, as he watched the countryside pass him.

"There's a tracker on the car," she replied, her hands tightened on the steering wheel, not sparing him a glance. "We'll be fine. I have my gun, and SHIELD will be here soon. Just, watch out for a helicopter though, or any other flying machinery."

Harry closed his eyes at the words, as they continued along the quiet roads. Occasionally, Peggy would stop, pull her phone from her pocket and glance at it, before looking around her. From the speed she drove, and the familiarity that she approached the turns in the road, Harry had no doubt she knew where they were, and perhaps that she had studied the roads for this very reason. She alternated between staring at Harry, and barely looking at him in the slightest.

"Mum," Peggy glanced towards him at the name again, barely taking her eyes off the road in front of her but Harry paid it no notice, his eyes instead focused on the approaching dark grey cars. "There not flying, but what about cars?"

His mother's narrowed her eyes as she spotted the approaching cars, before turning suddenly onto one of the side streets, Harry's head bumping against the window at the sudden movement.

"Are you alright?" she yelled over the sound of the engine as she accelerated, but Harry barely noticed the question, instead watching the vehicles behind them brake furiously, some managing to turn in time, others cascading into their companions. As they gained speed, Harry found himself struggling to spot the cars from the dirt that their own sped up, and often hoped that they had lost them, only for them to appear a few seconds later.

"What are you doing?" he yelled back as they turned suddenly again, his head once again bouncing against the window as they charged through a gate.

"Do you think you can steer?" his mum asked him, as she glanced into the mirror. The pack of cars had been thinned again, but many were still following them, and now, judging by the sudden shattering of one of the mirrors, they were using guns.

"Sorry?" he asked, unsure if had heard her correctly. Surely this was hardly the time for a driving lesson, Harry thought delariously. His mother glanced at him, pulling her gun from its holster, and suddenly Harry understood.

"This is insane," he shouted as reached over to grab the steering wheel as Peggy opened the window. With a final nod, she turned her head and began to fire at the cars behind them, leaving Harry to attempt to steer. Even as he narrowly missed a flock of sheep and broke through another fence, a grin began to spread across his lips.

 _His mum was badass._

From his occasional glances in the mirror, Harry could see the cars behind them thinning, and eventually, with the help of some sheep, there was only a singular car left, which too soon fell into a passing creek. Harry let out a loud whoop as he charged through another fence, landing them on a forest road, and his mum began to laugh as she took the wheel again.

He couldn't wait to tell Ron and Hermione about this, Harry thought, his head vaguely lightheaded as he laughed. Not only had he met his mum, but he had driven a car through a _car chase._ Hermione would either be impressed or horrified.

Suddenly though, even as thoughts of his head filled his mind, his head bounced against the glass once again, the car suddenly spinning beneath them. It slammed into a tree, both Harry and Peggy's heads slamming into the front of the car.

The airbags exploded, and when Harry managed to free himself from it, it was to the sight of an approaching car, and the feeling of blood running down his face. In his hand, Harry noticed distantly, his wand had been broken in two. His mum next to him was coughing, a horrified expression on her face as she watched the approaching vehicle.

"Harry, run," his mum whispered.

"I'm not leaving you," he protested, as he struggled to free both himself and his mother from the car. His mother, he quickly realised, had been far worse injured than he had. She had been thrown into the wheel by the car and was now sitting oddly, trying to keep all her weight from leaning too far to the right.

Desperately, he tried to reach towards his magic, but each time he almost seemed to reach it, it escaped, making him dizzier with each try.

"I'll be a few seconds behind you," his mum winced, "I just need to get something out of the back of the car."

"No," Harry shook his head. "I'm not leaving you."

"Harry, it's not me they're after. It's you. Please, run."

Harry glanced at the approaching car again, a plan beginning to form in his head again at her words. He jumped out of the car, and began to run towards it, ignoring his mum's yells as ran, attempting to ignore the way that the world spun around him.

"Come and get me!" he shouted, throwing his arms into the air as the car stopped in front of him. He turned, dashing into the trees as he heard the yells and laughter of the men behind him.

The ground beneath him was covered in logs, which he found himself stumbling over as he darted around trees, occasionally hearing the sounds of footsteps behind him. Eventually, he settled into a rhythm, stumbling less as he began to gain speed, and the sounds of footsteps behind him disappeared. As his breath began to tremble, he slowed to a jog, glancing around him in an effort to get an idea of his surroundings.

He only had the chance to think, 'trees, trees, and the occasional rock' before something cold grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, dangling him in the air for several seconds, in which he struggled wildly, before he was dropped suddenly to the ground. He yelped, crawling back several steps before standing, and freezing as he saw the figure standing over him.

"No-, no, no," he cried as the figure approached him again; the face, hidden by a mask, and the arm, were no different than the boggart which had haunted his nightmares for weeks. Harry threw his fists towards the man, but he caught them, throwing him back to the ground.

"Expelliarmis!" he shouted, but it made no difference, the man not even hesitating before he continued to walk towards. Desperately, as the man grabbed his shirt, pulling him back to his feet, he tried again to reach towards his magic, attempting to throw it towards the man, but the other didn't falter.

"No," he protested again, as a bag was shoved over his head. Harry felt the world begin to spin, seconds before it fled, and he fell to the ground.

 **Happy Birthday to Peggy Carter. For your present, I have had your son kidnapped. Again. (no seriously her birthday is the ninth of April)**

 **Also, Peggy. I think at this point you should just stop trusting neighbours. Honestly.**

 **To those people who got excited about my updating a few days ago, I'm sorry. I added chapter titles, and apparently, they took that as an update. Sorry.**

 **Title from the Strumbellas' 'We Don't Know'**

 **Please leave a review! I truly do appreciate them**

 **Edit: 5/5/17. I went back and changed the part about the wand, so Harry broke it during the car case, instead of just leaving it behind. It just seemed far more realistic**


	6. Every Monster Was Once A Happy Child

**Excuse Me, I Don't Suppose You Know How To Time Travel?**

 **Chapter 6**

 **Every Monster That They Made Was Once A Happy Child**

There were moments in your life that you knew would stay with you forever; moments that would come to define who you were.

The moment a wolf's teeth had clenched upon his arm was one such moment for Remus Lupin, dooming him to the life of a monster. Three boys grinning at him, all dressed in new Hogwarts clothes, and, a short while later, fear building in his chest as he realised that they _knew_ , only for it to be replaced with joy as he realised they _didn't care_.

The day that he had read the words 'YOU-KNO-WHO DEAD' emblazed upon a newspaper, the subheading reading, 'Lily and James Potter Dead - Son Survives!', had been another such day, leaving him without friend or comfort in the world.

Now though, Remus Lupin knew that he would be haunted by a pale, trembling face, hopeful blue eyes, and a tentative smile.

"You-you're certain," Remus asked, pleading. He already knew the answer though, had known it from the moment the Headmaster had appeared in the doorway of his office, his face grim. "There's no sign of him?"

Dumbledore shook his head, the darkness underneath his eyes making him appear, for the first time Remus could remember, old. The man had appeared to have aged with every word that had left Remus' had uttered, as he confessed the truth, of what he, Sirius Black, and Lily Evans had done all those years before.

"The Ministry was alerted to underage magic near Winchester, earlier today. They obliviated the muggle, Peggy Carter. His moth..." Dumbledore sighed, "There's been no sign of him since. Remus, my boy..."

The headmaster trailed off again, unsure of what to say. Remus clenched his eyes shut, guilt building in his chest.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Remus began. "I should have told you something-, before I let him leave this morning-, after he defeated Voldemort, before that, when we first found him. I shouldn't have let this gone on for so long."

"You and Lily did what you thought was best, at the time. Now, you tried to return him to his mother. I cannot blame you for that-, nor can I for not telling me. We all have our war secrets, Remus."

"What about the Ministry," Remus asked. "Do they know?"

"The Ministry has since realised who Margaret Carter truly was to Harry Potter, and have attempted to fix the damage that they had caused. Those spells though, they're always nearly impossible to undo. It perhaps would have been kinder to leave her as it was," Dumbledore replied. "However, they do not know about your involvement, and I would recommend that it remains that. Delores Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, she's looking to tighten the restrictions on werewolves. Unless you're careful, Remus, you might no longer be able to work here, and the rest of your species might be unable to find any form of employment at all."

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could feel anything besides numb at the thought, before the second message behind Dumbledore's words came to him, causing his eyes to open suddenly.

"I'm allowed to continue working?" Remus replied, aghast. "You'll let me continue to work, after-, for all we know I killed a stude-, I killed Harry? After I helped to bring a baby into a war? You'll still trust me around children?"

Dumbledore chuckled hoarsely, taking his spectacles off to rub his eyes.

"Remus, how in Merlin's do you expect me to think badly of you? You and Lily saved thousands of lives. What you did," he paused, closing his eyes, expression pained, "it was for the greater good."

Remus shook his head, aghast. The past six months had been the happiest Remus felt in years; the first time he had had a stable job or had people who respected him. It had also meant that he had been able to see Harry, and the echoes which James and Lily had left in the child that they had sacrificed their lives for.

"Headmaster, I resign." It didn't matter what Dumbledore thought of his supposed innocence. His own opinion was what mattered, and he couldn't continue to teach students knowing he had sentenced their classmate to death. "I need to find Harry."

Dumbledore nodded, expecting the answer. "Whatever help you need though, my boy, I'll do my best to offer my assistance."

Remus didn't attempt to return the headmaster's smile as he turned to leave. In the distance, unheard by either of them, a dog began to howl.

* * *

When Harry woke, it was to the feeling of being roughly manhandled from where he had lain, and to a world of darkness, a band tied around his face.

"Where am I?" he asked, his head pounding. At the lack of reply, be began to struggle against the grasp. "Where's my m-"

He fell silent as he remembered where he had last seen his mother, telling him to run as she had prepared to face her death to save him. Was she dead? Had his impatience to try and find a family killed what was left of it?

"Let me go!" he began to yell, pulling again against the firm grasp on his shoulders. Whoever was holding him began to yell in a language he did not know, until another pair of hands grabbing his arms, and another his legs as he began to kick wildly. Whatever power he had earlier, that had knocked out his mother's neighbour, was gone, instead replaced by a growing dread in his chest.

"Put him under!" a man shouted from near his right, a sound which was quickly followed by the movement of people. "Whoever took him might soon be here! Be quick with it!"

Harry soon felt himself being shoved into a metal container, the word _coffin_ echoing through his head before it closed, and instead all he could feel was _cold_.

* * *

It was difficult to know how much time had passed when he stumbled out of the cold, only into the cold laughter of men. It seemed only seconds ago that he had been pleading as multiple injections were forced into him, only hours ago that his mum had told him to run.

"Up," a voice commanded as he flinched against the light, desperately throwing his arms out, attempting to regain balance.

Several seconds passed before he regained his sight, turning his eyes upwards to find multiple faces above him, none familiar. Several of their faces became amused as he threw himself backwards, while others didn't even twitch.

It took him almost a minute for his senses to return to him, his eyes flipping around the cold, harshly lit room, and the large metal container which had held him.

"What year is it?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

His question was greeted with laughter.

"Where am I?" he asked instead. The response this time, though, was a hand grasping his arm, dragging him away from the metal coffin.

"Where's my mum?"

Any questions he had faded as he entered another room, one that might have reminded Harry of the dentist his Aunt Petunia had taken him and Dudley to before he had left for Hogwarts, if not for the binds which were placed along the sides of the chair, or the man dressed in a black suit, who was standing near it.

"Where's my mum?" he repeated as he was forced into the chair, and the binds placed across his arms. He began to struggle against the metal, yelling wildly before the suited man stepped closer, placing a hand on the side of his head.

"You will do yourself only harm with that behaviour," he stated as Harry stopped yelling, instead the room becoming full of the sounds of his struggled breathing. "What's your name?"

Harry remained silent, staring at the man with his eyes narrowed. There was something strange about the way that the man phrased the question, as if he knew the answer, but was it was not what he was looking for.

"My name is Harry Rogers."

The man stepped backwards, folding one of his suit sleeves up, the man's fist meeting his face a second later. Pain erupted where the fist touched, but Harry didn't allow him the satisfaction of making any noise.

"Eventually, you will learn to listen to what we tell you. From now on, you are not Harry Rogers. Do not make this more difficult than it needs to be. I ask again, what's your name?"

"Harry James Rogers."

The fist slammed into his nose, this time drawing blood. Harry threw the man a glare, which caused him to raise an eyebrow.

"Perhaps then, that is not the best way to do this," he said, pulling a radio from his pocket and raising it to his mouth. "Agent, kill Margaret Carter."

Harry yelled as the other side of the radio replied their affirmative, pulling against the restraints.

"No! No! Please!"

The man raised a finger, cutting Harry off.

"Agent, cancel that last order," he spoke into the radio, before returning his attention to Harry. "You will find that obedience will be rewarded with us. If you behave, it will be easier for all of us, but mostly, it will mean your dear mother will be able to continue breathing."

Harry nodded quickly, causing the man to smile. _It would be easier to behave_ , Harry agreed, silently. If they did not suspect him, it would be easier to eventually escape _and_ save his mum. _Only,_ his thoughts turning to the books he had read, theories about what had become of Harry Rogers passing through his mind, _I will not let them make me a monster._

"I think you'll find that our situation can be mutually beneficial," the man said, stepping backwards. "I eventually we will find out who took you, and who raised you. You, your mother, have other family members. Your mother will not be the only one in danger, but everyone you have ever cared for or who have cared for you.

"I would recommend not responding to your previous name anymore. In fact, I would suggest that you forget it entirely," he smiled slightly. "From now on, you will answer to Junior."

* * *

Time passed for him in a series of cold space and metal walls. How much time had passed he did not know, but he took comfort in the surrounding technology which remained the same, and horror in that which had changed.

Occasionally, he left the cold to find himself tied again to a chair, with people in lab coats testing his blood or taking scans. These visits were often accompanied by the disappointed shakes of the doctors', or other visitors', heads. These doctors were as uncaring as if he were already dead, treating him as little more than a body which they were harvesting.

However, once as he sat in the chair, one had leant down and had whispered, "They're waiting till you're old enough to they wipe you, but they are growing desperate. You have to trust me."

The next time he woke up, the doctor was gone, replaced by another lab coat with a blank face.

More often though, he woke to a gun, or an obscure weapon, being forced into his hand, and being told to shoot. Whenever he hesitated, his mum would appear in his mind, another neighbour pointing a gun through her window.

She had almost sacrificed her life to save him. If having to learn how to shoot a gun was the price he had to pay to protect her, it was hardly worth questioig.

The weapons training was not the worst part though. The gruelling hours which he spent being thrown on the ground, or taunted, by the soldier who had been tasked with training him was far worse. It was a repetitive cycle, that began with the man retrieving him from the cold, and him returning with bruises. He quickly discovered that though he would never be able to meet the soldier with force, he could often out quick him. Unfortunately, the tactic which he had once used for Dudley and his group of friends was less likely to work, his trainer not losing their strength in the chase, and only becoming more annoyed by his darting.

"They will kill you, and your miserable mother," the man eventually yelled at him, as he lay on the ground clutching his arm. "Give up, boy!"

Despite his best attempts though, his aim to avoid fighting eventually began to fail. Instead of running, his tactic became to move into his trainer's blindspot before attacking, as the fear for his mother's life and the soldier's teaching began to take effect.

It was only after he had used the other man's shoulder to somersault over him, before aiming for his knees and pinning him to the ground, that Harry realised he was well on the way to becoming the monster that he had promised himself he wouldn't become.

He had been left in a room, entirely empty except the table and chair that were fixed to the ground, the food that sat on it, and a camera which watched him. The food a bitter brown mush that had quickly become familiar, along with the room, his being placed in it each time before he was returned again to the metal coffin.

This small grey room had become the cupboard of his childhood, except unlike his cupboard under the stairs, even here he was not truly alone.

He had no way of knowing how many years had passed, and what had become of those he had left behind. _Did his friends still search for him? Had so many years passed that,_ he flinched, thinking of it, _his mother, or they, had died of old age?_

Was he becoming a monster for nothing?

Overcome by desperation, Harry lifted the bowl, throwing it at the camera and watching as it hit the lens, shattering it, and splattering brown mush on the wall behind it.

Harry jumped up quickly, hearing yelling from outside the room, and the rattling of keys. He brought his hands up to his face and began to murmur the word, _expelliarmus_ , as if it were a prayer.

The door slammed open, and a man walked in, a gun pointed at Harry.

Nothing happened.

* * *

When the next came out of the cold, his trainer was gone, and instead, a balding man greeted him, the Soldier with the metal arm standing behind him.

"Junior, it is time for your first assignment," the balding man stated, a smirk upon his face as Harry remained staring in horror at the Soldier who had taken him all those years ago, and the face which had been hidden by the mask.

His face remained impassive at the news, no flicker to say that he recognised the boy in front of him. But Harry recognised _him_ , but from where he could not place. His face was completely blank, inspiring a sense of _wrong_ in Harry. He continued to stare at the Soldier before a flash of irritation crossed the balding man's face.

"Junior, you would do well to remember what you have to lose."

His mother.

A woman who had given everything for him, but he could barely remember. Because of the soldier who stood behind the man.

Yet when the soldier spoke, he echoed the words a moment later, the man's stare burning into him.

"Ready to comply."

* * *

The dark trees reminded him of his first detention at Hogwarts; of friends, and the discovery of monsters. Except now, there were no friends, and the only monsters were him and the Asset.

They had been left on an empty road early that morning, and for hours he and the Soldier had sat, waiting. As darkness had begun to creep in, Harry's anxiety began to grow, and the words that the man had told him before pushing him out of that van that morning circled through his head.

" _He is not a good man. He deals in war."_

Was his mother's life worth more than this man's?

Was his mother even still alive?

He had briefly considered attempting to escape, but the soldier's following eyes left him no doubt he had been tasked with watching him, his hand never straying far from the gun at his hip, or the radio next to it. He had been sent here to babysit and complete a mission; just because Harry was no longer in their base didn't mean he was in any more control.

Even now, as he stood beside the road, watching the trees, he knew that the soldier was sitting not far from, watching from a vantage point, a rifle in hand. As lights from an approaching car began to flash off the trees, Harry crouched, waiting.

The car collided into the tree, glass shattering and barely missing him. He forcefully shut his eyes, distantly hearing the muffled exclamations of pain, and the sounds of a motorbike as the Asset approached. Louder than that though, was his own thoughts.

This man's life might mean less than his mum's, but that didn't mean he meant _nothing_. His mum, she wouldn't have wanted this. What about his dad? What would have Captain America thought to see his son complacent in someone's murder?

And what of his friends, whose names he could barely think of for fear that HYDRA would somehow find them. What would they think of what he had become?

What did _he_ think of what he had become?

Even the last question was a mystery to him; who he had once been seeming locked away in a corner of a mind, where he might be able to keep it safe. But as the sound of the Soldier's motorbike began to grow ouder, that corner of his mind grew too.

Power growing in his chest, Harry stepped forward to meet the Soldier, the air around him beginning to glow softly.

The Soldier pulled his bike to a sudden stop in front of Harry, his eyebrows drawn low as he stared at him. For the first time since Harry had first seen him, the soldier didn't look blank. Instead, he looked afraid.

"Get out of the way," the Soldier said as he stepped off his bike. "The orders were not to hurt you."

Harry squared his feet, lifting a glowing hand towards the approaching assassin.

"You're not going to hurt them! I'm not going to let you hurt anyone, ever again!"

The two moved at the same time, a pulse escaping Harry's hand at the same moment the soldier darted to the side, spinning his gun towards Harry. The silver pulse crashed instead into the tree, causing it to explode, littering the road with its remnants. Behind it, other trees began to crack, falling the ground.

For several seconds, Harry watched, stunned as the pulse ripped through the trees, before almost collapsing as exhaustion overtook him. Turning to face the soldier, a metal arm met him, colliding into the side of his head, knocking him to the ground.

"I will not hurt you," the man promised, blue eyes watching Harry as he struggled to stand, blood pouring from his nose.

Harry clenched his eyes shut as his head pounded, overcome by a desire to lie down and _sleep._ It was interrupted, however, by the sound of the car door swinging open, and a man being dragged from its side. Distantly, Harry could hear the man begging, but the words were undecipherable.

He forced his eyes open, to stare at the man who now lay on the road, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Harry-" the man began to cough, blood splattering on the road. "It can't be you-"

Harry stared at the man, whose dark brown eyes stared back at him, understanding beginning to form within his. He wasn't here to do anything, they had never expected him to kill this target. HYDRA had sent him here to break him.

How could Harry Rogers ask for his mum's protection, or her _love_ , when he had allowed one of her oldest friends to die?

"You're mother-, she always said you were alive-, she loved you Ha-"

There was a crack as the Soldier twisted Howard Stark''s head, leaving his eyes staring emotionlessly at Harry.

' _You're mother-, she always said you were alive- she loved you'_

Loved.

"Whatever you just did-, don't do it again," the Soldier ordered. Harry ignored him, staring at the familiar dark brown eyes as both nausea and grief began to build in him, tears beginning to fill his eyes for a reason he did not quite understand.

The Soldier's face was completely blank as he placed Howard Stark's body back in the car, the little emotion it had shown before completely gone, like it had been wiped.

Distantly, Harry could hear a woman's begging, as the soldier walked towards her. Harry struggled to his feet, wiping some of the blood from his face. He took a step closer, before stumbling towards the ground, and turning his sight towards the soldier as he wrapped his hand wrapped around the woman's throat, his face emotionless.

 _Wiped._

Oh.

He had not wanted to put much thought into what the doctor's words might have meant, but now, looking at the Soldier's face, he understood. If a person had nothing to hold onto, it was far too easy to create a monster from their ashes.

Harry faced away from the Soldier and vomited.

* * *

Harry wished he could say that he had put up a fight when HYDRA had appeared, wielding their guns and staring aghast at the destruction around them. Instead, he had barely struggled as he was placed inside a truck, all too aware of the Soldier who followed closely behind him. A woman, one of the doctors who occasionally did the tests on him, quickly approached, a needle in her hand.

When he next woke, it was to the sight of familiar walls, and the face of the man who had first greeted him.

"He is not yet matured!" the doctor yelled, barely glancing at Harry or the Soldier, instead staring at the man before them both. "It could severely affect his development! It would be a waste, Pierce!"

Several moments passed in which the man known as _Pierce_ made no effort to reply, barely seeming to notice her presence before he turned to face the Soldier.

"Asset, tell me what happened."

"The subjects were successfully terminated, and the target retrieved."

Doubt crossed the man's face, an echo of a smile stretching at his lips.

"I suppose that explains all the trees that were destroyed? It was meant to look like a drunken accident, and it looks like anything but."

The soldier didn't answer, his face blank as he stared at the blond. The man, however, leaned forward, looking at the soldier closely. Whatever he saw there, Harry didn't know, but a second later he was leaning back, turning his gaze to Harry.

"What did you do?"

Harry made no reply, glaring at the man with an anger he didn't feel. _Loved._ The only thing Harry could bring himself to feel was numbness, but now, at least, HYDRA no longer had anything over him.

Pierce stared at him, unblinking, before barking out the words, 'Wipe them both."

It was as if a trigger had been pulled. The room exploded into movement; the soldier's metal hand flinging forward to the man's throat as two guards ran towards them, guns in their hands. The Soldier turned, his arm grabbing one of them by their shirts as he pulled the gun from his hand, facing it towards the guard's companion, shooting them both in quick succession. The door flung open, more men pouring in as the Soldier turned his gun from Pierce to them, though his sight instead turned to Harry.

"Get down," the Soldier growled as he placed himself between Harry and their guns, raising his own to meet them. Instead of the release of bullets though, there was a yell of pain as the Soldier falling the ground as his sparks began to travel through his metal arm.

Harry raised his own hands instead to greet them, waiting for the energy of earlier, for his _magic_ to reappear. He began to tremble, clenching his eyes closed and praying for _something_. Seconds passed, in which the room remained tense before Harry stumbled to the floor.

Pierce began to chuckle softly, seemingly oblivious to the blood that stained the ground. As the eyes of the room turned to meet him, he gestured to Harry and the soldier.

"Move them both, but don't put them under."

Pierce strode out of the room, the doctor on his heels. A hand grasped around his arm, pulling him upwards with surprising gentleness. The Solider too was forced to stand; the energy that had overtaken him before entirely gone, leaving behind a broken man.

Both he and the Soldier were left in the room which reminded Harry of the cupboard, alone except for the camera, which's red light continued to flash at them. The two sat with their backs against the walls, the Soldier staring at Harry in horror, while Harry stared at his own hands.

"You're a-, you're a punk," the Soldier said, breaking Harry's stupor, before squeezing his eyes closed. The Soldier raised both his hands to hold his own head but jerked it away when the metal reached his hair.

The man's eyes snapped open; what once had been empty now stared at Harry intently.

"What's your name?"

"I- I don't have a name," he replied, shaking his head rapidly.

"No-, no-, please," the man began to beg, his voice desperate. " _What's your name?_ "

Several seconds passed, in which he hesitated, the man's desperate eyes staring at his own before the words poured from his mouth.

"My name is Harry James Rogers," Harry said, the words forming a tirade. "I have friends, and they _care about me_. My mum, Peggy, she _loved me_ , and _she wanted me_."

"James," the man repeated, his voice dull. "Your name is James."

"Harry James -"

The man fell backwards against the wall before Harry could finish, letting out a pain filled groan. Silence followed the sound before the man spoke again.

"Jesus Christ, Stevie. What have I done?"

* * *

Peggy's warm eyes looked into his own as she attempted to teach him to dance, the fire of the Stork Club basking the room in an orange light. She smiled gently as they took a step backwards, Steve taking care not to step on her toes.

"See, you're getting the hang of it," she laughed as he twirled her, the red dress flashing in the firelight.

"Well, I found the right partner," he replied, a smile on his face. She smiled back at him, humour and fondness both clear on her face. She leant into him as they continued to dance, both basking in the warm light.

Bucky's voice sounded from behind Steve's shoulder, the two turning to be greeted by the sight of the man, a beer in hand.

"Sorry, I would have brought you both one, but I figured there's not much point wasting money on you, Stevie. And we gotta give my future godchild the best start in life, right, Peg?"

Steve smiled in reply, placing a hand upon Peggy's own hand, which had come to rest on her stomach, feeling the slight bump of their child, and of his mother's ring on Peggy's finger.

"We're going to give them the best life possible, not just the best start," he replied, ignoring Bucky's laughter.

"I'm serious," he continued, despite Bucky's laughter. He turned his eyes towards Peggy's. "This child, she's going to be happy. I won't allow anything to happen to you, to either of you."

"I know you are, Steve. With you two for parents," Bucky said raising his glass to the two of them as Steve pulled Peggy against his chest, "this kid's going to have the best life. Going to be utterly stupid, mind you. It's got no grain of sense to inherit. I'm going to have to have a lot to teach it, but it may very well be a lost cause."

Steve laughed, contentment overwhelming him as he basked in the firelight. How could it be, that not long ago he had had bullets pouring down upon him, and before that, the fists of much larger man and the bewildered expressions of woman as he attempted to ask them to dance? Now, he had everything he had ever wished for, and so much more.

"Steve," Peggy said suddenly. He turned her eyes to her, meeting panicked eyes as he began to shiver, as the temperature of the room began to rapidly drop. "Steve, this isn't real."

"What do you mean?" he asked as the room began to fade, Peggy and her red dress becoming the only thing he could see. Blood began to cover Peggy's stomach, the red of her dress becoming dark.

"Our baby needs you, Steve. Wake up."

The warmth was gone, along with Peggy, leaving only cold blue in its wake.

"Peggy?" he yelled into the emptiness, the only response silence. The air was sharp with a claustrophobic cold that seemed endless.

"Dad?" a voice suddenly sounded in the distance. He spun around to be greeted by a small figure with Peggy's curly hair, yelling into space.

"Harry?"

"Dad! Mum!" the child called, his voice echoing through the ice.

"Harry! I'm right here!" he yelled as he began to run towards the figure.

Matching eyes met as Steve became close, pausing before colliding into the small figure.

"Dad?" the boy asked, his familiar eyes wide as he stared at him.

"Harry," he replied, pronouncing the name like a prayer. He took another step forward, so that he was barely a foot apart, and stared at the boy, horrified by the terror and shadows of his eyes, but amazed at the sight of him. Steve held out a hand to the trembling boy, struggling to keep himself from embracing him. The boy stared at the outstretched hand for a moment, before returning his eyes to his father's.

"Dad," the boy repeated, lifting his own hands up to stare at them, before turning his gaze to his father. A moment passed, in which the only sound was their breathing as Steve stared at his son's face, horrified but mystified by what he saw - his eyes, Peggy's nose, his heavy eyebrows, but Peggy's expression of fear - the wide eyes, the open mouth, and the furrowed brow.

"Am I dead?" Harry questioned, stammering. Steve froze at the question, a moment passing before the boy continued. "Where's mum?"

"No-, no, Harry," Steve took a step towards his son, who took a step away. "You're not dead. Your mum's not dead. You're both fine-, you're both going to be happy."

Steve had sacrificed himself so that thousands of other families could live, but the only reason he had been able to do that was he was certain his own would be alright. Peggy was the strongest person he knew, and he had known, without a doubt, that their child would be as loved and happy as if he too had been there too. Now though, with his son staring at his own outstretched hands, and the words ' _Am I dead? Where's mum?_ ' echoing through his head, Steve began to doubt that decision.

The boy raised a hand again, staring out the outstretched palm as his breaths became visible in the cold. Finally, he turned his eyes to the identical ones of his father.

"Please help," the boy begged as he began to crack, his hands beginning to fall apart like ice.

"No! No! Harry!" Steve shouted as grabbed onto the boy's arm, trying to pull his son closer as the world around them crumbled.

 **It should be mentioned that I am well aware that Howard Stark was killed in 1991, and consequently, Harry should not have been there. However, Harry Potter shouldn't be anywhere near Howard Stark or Captain America, so I think we should be able to let it slide.**

 **Some of you may have noticed that this chapter technically a rewrite, as I was not at all content with what it was previously. However, it does add a _lot_ more than the last chapter, as it was previously quite short, which is one of the reasons I was so unhappy with it.**

 **Title from The Strumbella's 'Young and Wild'.**

 **Thank you so much for reading this, and please review!**


	7. Help Me Brother, For I Have Lost My Mind

**Excuse Me, I Don't Suppose You Know How To Time Travel?**

 **Chapter Six**

 **Oh, Well Help Me, Brother, For I Have Lost My Mind**

The room was still, peaceful in a way which the battlefields of Europe could never be. Sounds began to wash over him as began to wake; a radio host describing a baseball game, and the sound of car horns below.

He pulled himself out of the bed, staring at the bright room around him, aghast at his surroundings; at the absence of chilling water and his still beating heart. _How was he still alive?_

' _Where's Peggy_ ," he wondered briefly, as he stared around the room, which had no sign of the woman, not even the smell of the soap which she used to clean her clothes. He was alone, his only company the radio and the furniture which was dotted about the room.

' _Where was he?'_

" _Reiser heads to third,"_ the radio spluttered suddenly, causing Steve to carefully turn, staring.

" _Here comes the relay, but things look steady,"_ the radio continued, ignorant of the turmoil in Steve's mind: his memories supplying the words before the radio could say them.

The door opened, and a woman stepped in, her brown hair covering her shoulders and a friendly smile on her face.

"Good morning, or," she said, looking at her watch, "I should say afternoon."

Steve glanced again at the radio, which had continued to sprout familiar words, before returning to the woman.

"Where am I?"

"You're in a recovery room, in New York City."

The nurse smiled at him, Steve's eyes flicking over her, doubt filling him. Her brown hair lay upon her shoulders, where it should have been up. The tie, which was far too wide to be a woman's. He turned his eyes back to the radio, which had continued to sprout familiar words.

"Where am I really?"

The woman smiled at him, a flicker of nerves crossing her face, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"The game, it's from May 1941. I know cause I was there."

The woman's eyes widened, Steve standing and taking a step towards her.

"Now, I'm going to ask you again. Where am I?"

"Captain Rogers-"

"Who are you?"

The door swung open again, two men dressed in dark clothes stepping through it. Blood pounding beginning to pound in his ears, Steve picked them up by their collars, throwing them towards the wall. Jumping through it, he glanced around, staring briefly at the large room, ignoring the woman's panicked voice behind him as he began to run.

His feet pounded beneath him as he passed through the streets, yellow cabs around him, and the sound of car horns chasing him. The colours around him grew brighter as he ran, eventually coming to a stop, struck by a sense of familiarity, but more so, the strangeness of all that was around him.

As he paused, drawing in a breath, black cars pulled in around him, but he barely noticed, staring at instead at his surroundings. He was surrounded by bright lights, the loud noises, and the people who were straining to stare at him behind the implemented barriers, some of the women dressed in little more than undergarments, while others were dressed in clothes as equally as strange.

"At ease soldier," a voice called, revealing a darkly dressed man with a patch over his eye. He approached, not casting a glance at the people who crowded around them. "Look, I'm sorry about that little show back there, but we thought it was best to break it to you slowly."

"Break what?"

His heart was beginning to beat in his chest, in turn with the loud noises around them.

"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years."

Steve turned again, staring again at the world around him, understanding beginning to form in his stomach. These streets were familiar because he had walked them before, ran them when chasing Erskine's killer. He and Bucky had played throughout them as children, chasing adventures, unaware of what the future would hold for both of them.

Unbidden, Bucky's words from all those years ago circled through his mind.

" _Where are we going?"_

" _The future."_

The future. All the brighter and real than any exposition Howard ever could have made.

For the first time since he had woken, he allowed his thoughts to drift to the child which had only just begun to grow. When he had plunged into the ice, Steve had given up any hope that he would ever know his and Peggy's child, to be able to be a parent. But now...

"Are you going to be alright?"

"It's just... Peggy- our baby," Steve stammered. "How are they?"

The man's face shifted, falling for a second. As Fury's face returned to its previous aloof state, Steve's stomach began to tighten.

"Son, I think we should talk about this elsewhere."

* * *

His fist crashed into the punching bag, the sound of guns firing through his head. Bucky's hand slipping, and the resounding screaming that echoed through the gorge. Erskine's finger, jabbing into his heart as he his breaths began to shorten.

Peggy, her face determined, but a smile beginning to overcome it, a hand grasped on her stomach.

"Trouble sleeping?"

At the sound of Fury's voice, Steve didn't turn to greet him, instead throwing his hand into the punching bag. His punches began to gain momentum, the bag bursting, flying through the air, sand spilling across the floor. The only noise became the sound of his breathing, as he stared at the sand which was scattered across the floor. Finally, he turned, replacing the bag with another one.

"I've slept for seventy years, sir. I think I've had my fill."

" _Rogers, your son, Harry, went missing in the May of ninety-fourty-six. He was never found."_

The words which Fury had said to him a few weeks before repeated through his head, as his hand collided with the bag, the bandages beginning to rub the scabs underneath. He took another punch, ignoring the pain, focusing only on the rhythm.

Undeterred, Fury continued. "You should be out, seeing the world."

Steve stopped, turning away from Fury as he began to unwind his bandages, allowing his breaths to calm. Fury had been absent from his life since he had told him what had happened to Harry, instead, he had been left with doctors, who both wanted to run tests on him and talk about his emotions, and SHIELD agents dressed in suits, who watched him warily, as if they thought he was about to fall apart like the ice he crashed into.

"When I went under, we were at war. When I woke up, they say we won. They didn't say what we lost."

Fury was silent, the only sound the bandages being unwrapped and the ghosts of all those that had been left behind.

"When you're punching those bags, Cap, whose face is it that you are imaging? HYDRA agents, or whoever took your boy?"

Steve turned, staring briefly at the director, before the punching bag on the ground. He didn't offer Fury a reply, casting the man a warning glance as he finished unwrapping the bandages, briefly wincing as they pulled at the scabs.

"What if we had something more productive to put that energy towards?" Fury continued.

Steve turned his gaze back to Fury, overtaken by an emotion he couldn't identify; somewhere between horror and relief. The world had changed much in the seventy years he had been asleep, in ways which were both good and bad. But if it still needed Captain America, perhaps it hadn't changed as much as he had thought.

"Trying to get me back in the world?"

"Captain, we're trying to save it," Fury replied, offering him a file.

There had been a familiarity to fighting alongside the Avengers, despite the aliens pouring from the sky and the powers and abilities which had been near absent from the battlefield of the ninety-fourties. It was far too easy to lose himself in his actions; fighting a madman who was hell-bent on world domination. It was far easy to imagine the Avengers the teammates he had left behind in a different time. He had his shield back, and a team besides him, fighting to save the world from evil.

"Captain America, a man out of time," Loki had smirked, upon their first meeting.

"Do you really think that you will ever be able to find a place in this century?" Loki had crowed, ignoring Romanoff's words. "I know what's it's like, Captain, to be an outsider. To want a real family. To wonder what it would be like if it hadn't been snatched from you.

"I imagine it must have been rather difficult for you, waking up in a new century, discovering all that you had loved was gone. Actually, I don't need to imagine it, Captain," Loki's eyes stared at him intently. "I know what it's like to discover that everything you loved is gone, or, in my case, untrue. Your son, Harry, I believe his name was. A tragic loss-, so young, even by your human standards.

"I could send you back, Captain," he declared, his sceptre coming closer to Steve's heart, which had begun to beat louder. "You could live a life, you could save your son. All you have to do is-"

He would never know what he needed to do, his shield already blocking the sceptre as he swung it towards Loki's face.

After they had defeated Loki, he and the Avengers went their separate ways, SHIELD finally decreeing he was capable of living on his own feet. Though his apartment in Brooklyn was overpriced, it was also his home, and it had a large window, from which he could watch the streets outside. Though the lights were all the brighter, and it was far more busy than it had once been - people brasher now, with fewer clothes and far, far louder, the streets were still the same.

The Avengers weren't the team he had left behind, but that didn't mean that they couldn't do good. For the first time since he had woken in this new century, he reached towards the files from SHIELD, allowing himself to flick through the pages of the Commandoes, _Gabe Jones - deceased,_ _Dum Dum Dugan_ _\- deceased, James Barnes - deceased, Howard Stark - deceased_ , before finally reaching the page labelled _Margaret 'Peggy' Carter-Rogers - alive._

* * *

"You're late."

Two weeks had passed since the battle against Loki, over a month since he had first woken when Steve finally found himself in the same room as the woman he had loved, and who he had left behind years before. Now, his eyes could barely leave her; undoubtedly older, but as beautiful as ever; her eyes still alight with the same fire which he had fallen for.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't call my ride."

At his response, Peggy smiled at him - the same smile she had given the first time he had said it - laughing softly, which he soon began to join her in. Finally, she reached towards her bedside, using a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. Steve leaned forward, embracing her hand with his own.

"Oh, we were so in love, weren't we, Steve?" Peggy's smile beginning to fade, looking at their grasping hands, her eyes glistening. "We could have had everything."

"Well, I always said I just needed to find the right partner," Steve joked, his eyes remaining on Peggy, in wonder, despite the way her own moved towards the photographs by her bedside. As Peggy's mouth opened though, the elation he had felt upon seeing her again began to fade, replaced by the reminder of what stood between them. Or rather, what didn't.

"You would have loved him, Steve. You would have loved Harry."

Steve's eyes flicked to the photographs on Peggy's bedside; a curly-haired infant surrounded by the Howling Commandos, in the arms of a straight-faced Colonel Phillips, a photograph of him and a blonde woman, and two photos of Harry and Peggy. One had clearly been taken soon after his birth, a crying bundle held tightly in Peggy's arms, while the second was of Harry leaning against Peggy, both mother and son staring at the camera with identical, albeit on one-half toothless, smiles. The last one was a photo of their son alone. It was the photo that could be found in most books, and had been the only one given to Steve after waking: a photo taken only a few days before Harry had gone missing, which had been plastered across every newspaper in the country, along with the title 'KIDNAPPED'.

In the other photographs, the resemblance to Peggy was overbearing, but with his eyebrows drawn, clutching a star patterned blanket, the resemblance to Captain America was undeniable.

Returning his eyes to Peggy, Steve smiled, "Of course I would have, Peg. Half of him came from you, it would have been impossible not to.

"I'm so sorry, Peggy. For not being there. I could have found another way, I shouldn't have..." Steve trailed off, his emotion a turmoil within him, one which he was unable to explain.

Peggy's eyes moved back to the photographs, meeting Steve's eye in the reflections of the glass. "I could always see so much of you in him, Steve. From the moment he was born, he was a fighter. I know he wouldn't have blamed you. You have nothing to be sorry for. You defeated HYDRA. You saved _the world_."

"I don't think I can give myself all the credit," Steve smiled, meeting Peggy's eyes. "What you did, it was incredible. Knowing that you helped found SHIELD is half the reason I stay with it."

He allowed the smile to drop from his face, Peggy's hand squeezing his own. When he returned his eyes to her, she offered him a watery smile but didn't speak.

"For as long as I can remember, I always just wanted to do what was right. I guess I'm just not sure what that is anymore. And I thought I could throw myself back in, and follow orders. Serve. It's just not the same."

"The world has changed, Steve. And none of us can go back, sometimes-," Peggy descended into a coughing fit, Steve tightening his grip on her hand. When she opened her eyes again, she stared at Steve, wonderous, whispering, "Steve?"

Steve began to reply, before Peggy's hands grasped his shirt, pulling him closer.

"Steve," she said, even as he began to deflate, despair beginning to form. "Steve! Our baby- Harry, he's alive, he's _alive_ , he found me, but they took him again, they took my baby- they took our baby Steve."

She descended into sobs, her frail body shaking. Steve reached forward, beginning to embrace her shoulders before she jerked away from, staring at him with the same brown eyes.

"He's alive," she repeated, reaching towards her bedside table, pulling a small object from the draw and pushing it into Steve's hands. "You have to believe me, Steve. He came back to me. He was still _a baby_ and he was _my baby_ and they stole him. They stole him from me, Steve!"

"Peg..." Steve began, before the door burst open, nurses flooding through.

"No, my _baby_ ," Peggy cried again as one of the nurses stopped at her shoulder, pushing her gently back to bed. A hand landed on Steve's shoulder, and he turned to face another nurse, sympathy upon her face.

"I think it's best if you leave, Captain Rogers."

As Steve was ushered out the door, the sound of Peggy's cries continued behind him. Once the door had finally slammed closed, his final view of Peggy being as she continued to fight against the nurses, as his thoughts turned instead to his own childhood.

There had been an elderly woman who lived near him and his Ma, and who would often look after him when Ma was working. One day, she had begun to call him Jacob, and he had begun to spend his days with Bucky and his mother instead.

"Thank you," he remembered Ma saying to Bucky's mother, "The poor old dame - as kind as anything, but she is getting on, and with Steve's health... She lost her only son in the Great War, the poor thing, I just don't want to risk anything."

A few months after that, his ma had found her lying in her apartment, blue, the wind pulling snow through her open window.

As the memories of the past faded, he stopped, looking at the small, plastic soldier which Peggy had forced into his hand.

The tiny plastic figure remained in his pocket throughout the next few days, becoming a familiar comfort as his newly found world began to collapse. The discovery that the nurse who lived across from him was in fact assigned by SHIELD, hardly seemed noteworthy. Instead, he berated himself for noticing it before. She had reminded him of someone, and after the training that SHIELD put the agents through in which many came out with the same mannerisms, it was a question which had been answered. It was with him when Nick Fury was declared dead, and later, when he had met Alexander Pierce.

"You see, I took a seat on the council not because I wanted to, but because Nick asked me to," Pierce had told him, "We were both realists, who knew that sometimes the best path forward meant not fixing what was already broken, but tearing it down, and starting anew."

Pierce's grim smile had faded from his face as he turned to face him, "Captain, you were the last one to see Nick alive, and I don't think that was an accident. And I don't think you do either. So I'm going to ask again, why was he there?"

Steve stared at him, unblinking, silent before he answered, "He told me not to trust anyone."

Pierce met his stare with an equally still one, before beginning to chuckle quietly, facing the window. Steve tensed as Pierce turned again to face him.

"You know what Captain, you remind me of someone," he said, observing him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, I can really, really see it. Did it ever occur to you he might have also been talking about himself?"

"That's all he told me. Excuse me," Steve replied, fastening his shield to his back as he began to walk from the room. Pierce's eyes pierced his back as he left, and he turned to face the man when he began to talk again.

"Captain, someone murdered my friend," Pierce declared. "And I'm going to find out why. Anyone who gets in the way is going to regret it. Anyone."

Steve glanced at the other man, before nodding.

"Understood."

The plastic soldier was with him when his life shattered yet again, completely.

"Bucky?"

Though only a second ago the street had been filled with the sounds of the fight between Steve and the Winter Soldier, now the only sound was the beat of his heart, as his best friend's face stared at him, completely blank.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

The gun in the Winter Soldier's hand seemed barely noteworthy as Steve stared at the man, instead noticed at the rise and fall of the man's chest, as he was pushed to the ground, and a gun pushed against his chest, the only words which echoed through his head were ' _Who the hell is Bucky."_ Images flashed through his head - Bucky's final yell as he fell backwards, his hand outstretched in midair. That same hand had tried to put a knife through his heart.

"It was him, he looked right at me, and it was like he didn't even know me," he said as he stared at the ground of the van, his mind already seeking the answer to the question before Sam could ask it. Tonelessly, he replied, "Zola."

"None of that was your fault, Steve," Natasha stated.

"Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky," he replied, the familiar _"I'll be with you to the end of the line_ _,"_ ringing in his ears. He had always believed that that would be true, that Bucky would be at his side from their childhood alleys, to when he would be named godfather of his and Peggy's child. Unconsciously, he shifted and felt the plastic soldier from Peggy shift against his leg. He clamped his eyes closed as Sam began speaking again, a suspicion beginning to form in his mind.

When electricity began to spark in the truck, he remained uncaring, his stomach beginning to tighten as the armed man near him crumbled onto the van floor. He barely noticed Sam and Romanoff's shock when the guard removed their helmet, revealing the familiar face of Agent Hill underneath. His thoughts were instead of the child whose photos decorated Peggy's room, and whose face had haunted his dreams since he had woken.

The discovery that Fury had survived barely seemed noteworthy after the few previous days. His survival was starkly overshadowed by the truth about the organisation he had presided over, and Bucky, who Steve had failed nearly seventy years ago. And Peggy and their son, Harry, who he had undoubtedly failed when he had crashed the plane into the water believing that his sacrifice would stop HYDRA, and that his son would be able to have a normal childhood.

Instead, Harry hadn't even gotten a childhood.

* * *

The carrier began to fall, the ground beneath him tilting as he struggled closer to where his friend lay. Bucky's face looked at him, fearful, as he struggled beneath the beam. Steve collapsed to the floor, his arms straining as he lifted metal, dropping it once Bucky was free. The man cast him another fearful stare.

"You know me," Steve began, before the other man stood, anger upon his face.

"No I don't," Bucky yelled, charging him.

"Bucky, you've known me your whole life," Steve panted, a hand against his bleeding stomach. The Soldier roared, throwing his metal fist into his face, causing Steve to fall backwards.

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes," Steve began again, ignoring the man's scream of anger. Steve stood, pulling the helmet from his face, "I'm not going to fight you, Buck. You're my friend."

This time, the man paused, staring at his face.

"We grew up together Buck, in Brooklyn. You were going to be the godfather of me and Peggy's child " Steve continued, "We named him after you. Harry. Harry James."

The Soldier stood, continuing to stare at him, shaking. Steve continued, "I'm with you 'till the end of the line, pal."

The man trembled, closing his eyes as he tried to block out the onslaught of memories. The last thing Steve saw before the glass gave out beneath him was the realisation which covered the Winter Soldier's face, Bucky's eyes snapped towards him in shock and grief as Steve began to fall.

* * *

"Yo, Cap. You've got a visitor," Sam told him, stepping aside to reveal the familiar face of the agent SHIELD had assigned to watch him.

"Neighbour," the blonde woman greeted him, her hands grasped on the satchel she carried.

"Neighbour," he replied, offering her a weak smile as she stepped into the room.

Sam left muttering about coffee, leaving the SHIELD agent to sit in the chair he had vacated. Seconds passed, both the Agent and he remaining silent, their attention instead focused on the trivial. Steve cast a look at her - still dressed in her SHIELD uniform, blood splattered across the blue fabric.

"I am sorry, for not telling you the truth," the blond broke the silence, a guilty expression upon her face.

Steve shook his head, amusement in his voice as he replied, "You were hardly the worst shock to come out of the last few days."

She hesitated, sympathy in her eyes before she pulled a sketchbook from her satchel.

"I heard you used to like drawing," she told him, placing the sketchbook and charcoal on his bedside table. "I figured you could use something to entertain you while you're recovering."

Steve grasped the sketchbook, flicking through the stark white pages. With the serum, it wouldn't be long until he could move again, but already his fingers itched towards the charcoal.

"I haven't had much of a chance to draw lately," he told her, truthfully. "You didn't need to, but I appreciate it. Truly."

"It's the least I can do. I think I owe you a few Christmas presents anyway," she told him, hesitating again. "Aunt Peggy, she used to have some of your work hanging in her house. They were good, I always used to admire them when visiting. They were all destroyed a while ago, but I'm sure she'd appreciate some more."

Steve froze, staring at the woman, understanding blooming in his chest as he froze, before beginning to smile again, wonderous. He had wondered why he had seemed familiar, but now, with her brown eyes looking at him - different shape, but the same unmistakable, warm colour, he wondered why it had taken him so long to realise.

"She must be proud of you, following in her footsteps."

"She might be, my parents aren't. My dad didn't have good experiences with war," she smiled at him, her teeth showing. "I'll just have to tell them I'm working with my uncle, Captain America."

Soon afterwards she left, leaving her phone number on his bedside as she walked out the door.

"You have a family, Captain," she had told as she had left. "You might not know us, but we have all grown up with tales of our Uncle Steve from Peggy. You're more than welcome to join us for dinner. My dad, he would love to meet you. He always mourned that he didn't get the chance. And I'm sure the kids would love to meet Captain America."

He glanced at the paper and charcoal she had left behind, smiling wistfully before shaking his head, Peggy's cries being to fill his mind, her sobs as she begged for Harry. The plastic soldier sat in his pocket, and Bucky's empty eyes stared at him.

 _I'm with you to the end of the line._

 **Title from the Strumbella's Did I Die?'.**

 **I'm sorry that this is such a filler chapter, but I promise that the next one will have more substance. I can guarantee that, because I have finished most of it already. Which means it should, hopefully, be up soon. Thank you so much for sticking with me through this. Please review!**


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